


Come and Take My Arms

by fkbunnyclub



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bottom Bruce, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Human Turned Kryptonian, Krypton Survives, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Protective Clark Kent, Protective Jason, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:34:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fkbunnyclub/pseuds/fkbunnyclub
Summary: Kal-El leads his world in preparation for the galactic war that is to occur against the malevolent creatures multiplying in dark space. Stranded near Krypton on a flagship is the Batman, of primitive-state humanity, who has been a subject of interest for Kal since contact had been established between the two worlds. When his father brings the Batman to their estate for scientific purposes, Kal-El cannot help the progression of his feelings for the man under the cowl.





	1. Chapter 1

Being discernably weak makes anyone fear fate.

In times of galactic conflict, humanity is often reminded of its primitive nature. Amidst a sea of advanced and odd civilizations, humanity is at best a hindrance. It is only through the grace of galactic political interests that humanity retains the interest of the others in the galaxy. Earth makes it mark somehow.

Earth officially opened itself to visitors sometime after the colonization of Io. Initial visits unearthed circular orbs bathed in odd white light. Decades of search focused on the alien technology so discovered by the Prometheus mission. It wasn’t until much later that the signals began to trickle in. It became self-evident later that the orbs were communication pods, linked to several other worlds previously thought dormant, devoid of life, or not located at all by the prototech possessed by humanity.

Life then, existed outside the boundaries of Earth.

It wasn’t a gracious find. Not like humanity had seen in the films they flocked to see. No conflict, no treaties, no friendship, only brittle relations, and thinly disguised hostility as they made contact with other worlds that graced the Milky Way with life alongside them. in the same vein, they discovered their standing in relation to the other species. Primitivity.

To hold an advantage too high deliberately leads to downfall. Yet the advantages of the other worlds were far and beyond that of the humans by the doing of nature herself. And who could humanity fault for that? Only the forces of nature. They spread themselves throughout their system to combat their disadvantage, and thrust themselves outward beyond into the galactic fray to make their mark onto the culture of the higher breeds.

Nothing ventured, nothing lost, so they said, as they fumbled through the intricacies of a world they knew nothing of, and were likely being kept out of deliberately. For good reasons, they discovered later. A primitive species had no relevance amidst galactic threats.

\---

“And what about Themyscira-”

Wayne Enterprises’ latest station, in orbit around Io, tilts its golden solar sheets inwards. The complimentary groan interrupts the young man seated on a floating disk, surveying the spread hologram before him. An elderly man places a vintage tea set on a smaller floating disk before turning to face the speaker.

“Master Bruce, whatever the answer may be, it will certainly not arise from surveyor data.”

Bruce pushes the hologram outwards and away from him, frowning at the transcripts, ones he’s acquired by no legal means, of the communication carried out between Themyscira and Earth representatives via the comm pod on Io.

“When no party wishes to communicate details fully to the other, it leaves everything to the imagination of the observer. While you are extraordinarily stubborn, it will be hard for you to, hm, conjecture about the state secrets of another species.”

“Point made.”

“Forgive me, I thought the same last month.”

Bruce Wayne is merely human, but with the fortitude of capital and political power from the ventures of his inherited enterprise. WE is, at the moment, an established forerunner in technology that mirrors that of the comm pods discovered by humanity, and the first to harness it for major projects, like the Io station. Bruce is again interrupted by the entrance of a sprightly young man, eyes flashing with youth and mischief the other two men in the room do not display.

“Bruce!”

“Master Dick, I hope you do not intend to interrupt Master Bruce’s brooding. It bears extra relevance today.”

“Pfft, like I could manage that.”

The younger man, headed towards Bruce, leans over the older man deliberately to look at the spread data, hands placed on stiff shoulders, kneading slightly. Bruce shifts, uncomfortable for a mere second, before letting the man continue.

“Huh, it looks like they’re cutting off talks with Krypton. The council there is pretty strict about the cross-species fraternization, but you gotta admit, it’s kinda dumb to not want Themyscira on your side for this war.”

“It’s not war yet.”

“Can’t deny what it is forever, Bruce. Logically, if you look at the way they’re behaving, they’re all gearing up for war. Doesn’t seem that way to us because we’re new, but it sure looks like it from the perspective of what’s his name? Jor-El?”

“Comm pod data doesn’t tell us the whole story.”

“Yeah well, we don’t really have any other way of contact.”

“I highly doubt that will remain true for long, Master Dick, particularly if Master Bruce has anything to say about it.”

“Or Lucius, Alfred, can’t forget him. Co-conspirator and eager partner.”

Bruce turns to face his first son. Dick is no longer a child, the Flying Graysons are no longer an oddity of a family manning the station posted near Mars, and Bruce no longer has illusions about the father figure he had hoped to be for his offspring. Dick’s smile now crinkles the skin around his eyes, full of teasing guile. Bruce hopes to be graced with the smile through the next few decades.

“Alfred, I’ll need to speak to Lucius and Gordon in ten, prep the Glass Desk for transmission.”

“Of course, Master Bruce, what does it matter that others perhaps decided to take their evenings off?”

“Show off,” Dick teases, hand resting lightly on Bruce’s arm as he rises from his seat to exit the room.

“We could do it in the War Room,” Bruce retaliates, light humor tinging his words.

Dick sticks out his tongue and saunters off.

“You’re a bad liar, Bruce!” The young man calls out over his shoulder as he makes his way into the navigation corridor, the doors sliding closed behind him. Bruce thinks the young man has grown into something admirable, and bites down the emotions that arise when he considers the growth of first ward and son.

The two remaining men watch the doors shut before the older one turns to his ward, a look of disappointment on his face.

“At nine, you had him running beside you on the Io colonies, in your nightly affairs,” Alfred recalls. “When do you deem it appropriate to tell him that you’ve left him out of your next ambitious venture?”

“It’s something I have to do alone.”

“Funny, I recall you saying the same about Batman.”

“Alfred, the sudden influx of sarcasm isn’t going to make me change my mind.”

Alfred graces Bruce with a blank stare usually reserved for the youngest Wayne’s antics.

“Perhaps Master Dick’s wrath at being left behind while you journey to the land of his dreams will.”

Bruce fixes his gaze on Alfred for a moment before turning away to head to the navigating deck. He’s to oversee the data, to ensure that the nav pilots have secured orbital and travel plans for the forthcoming year. If everything is to go smoothly, Bruce knows that Alfred should not have to face unwarranted hiccups. He’s prepared thoroughly, but things bear checking once or twice. Especially since he’s leaving behind his children.

Alfred departs from a covered door at the other end of the room.

Bruce doesn’t turn back.

\---

“What’s the status on the jumps for the T3?”

WE hires only a select few for their projects. It is imperative they maintain secrecy, particularly as a private megacorporation, spanning a few hundred system projects from colonial domes to surveyor stations. The Io station, named the Miletus, is a prized venture and the largest of its kind. The station comes equipped with the standards for a colonization station, plus a few extras Bruce had Lucius throw in to aid him in his nightly pursuits.

Batman.

Knowledge of that was a requirement for entry into the Miletus, and Bruce knew every employee that padded alongside him in the station.

A dangerous venture he’d reoriented his entire life for. It had made itself clear to him, when he’d been exploring his ancestral home on Earth, after the passing of his parents. He’d known then, that it was a mantle that he would carry. It would permit nothing else, but what it would bring to him would be a reclaiming of his destiny, of his purpose.

He had not foreseen his children, and the aid of all the others who now stood by him in his pursuit.

“Gordon speaking,” the commlink in his ear bursts into life smoothly with a slightly pinging.

“Want me to come to you?”

“Yes,” Bruce replies, gesturing for the employees to set aside the plans opened. “We’ll need to review the course of the Miletus for the next year as usual.”

“Right. On my way.”

Bruce doesn’t miss the hesitation in Gordon’s voice. It has grown difficult to disguise things from certain people in his life, and this is a price he often regrets paying when he considers the grander scheme of his actions. A flash of Dick’s smirk fills him with guilt. It is not often that he regrets paying it, Bruce decides, and thrusts the thought aside.

Gordon ventures towards him warily, eyeing the holospreads with apprehension. The man is a capable head of security, but prefers not to engage with the Engineering deck or anything remotely related. He gestures at the flight path that’s outlined by glowing blue lines around Io.

“You keep checking it, like something’s going to come up.”

“I keep checking it to see if you’ve understood it thoroughly.”

Gordon sighs.

“I got it,” He turns towards Bruce and gives the heir of the WE a once over. “What I don’t get is why you’re not telling me what it is you’re up to.”

His voice quietens.

“You gave me that courtesy once,” Gordon murmurs. “With Harvey Dent.”

Bruce stays quiet, flicking open nav plans for resettlement that he’d planned for the end of the coming year. The bright red streak indicating the journey catches Gordon’s eyes instantly.

“I haven’t seen this one before,” One hand reaches out to twist and turn the holospread. “Jesus Bruce, what is this?”

“What needs to be done. Can I trust you to do this?”

“Of course,” Gordon states wearily, closing the holospread. “But maybe I want to know why.”

“Come with me to the Glass Deck.”

Bruce nods at the remaining employees on the deck, striding out to the corridors. The circular walls are all that he’s grown up with, though back on Earth, he’d spent time tracing the wooden doors and railings in the Wayne Manor. The sharp edges of the building were committed to memory just as much as the sharp feelings of purpose he’d discovered during his stay.

Gordon follows him quietly, no doubt checking on something in the holoscreen that everyone has on their bracelets. Bruce is the only one without a bracelet. His resides under his skin.

By the time they enter, Lucius is already seated, sipping some odd concoction, certainly not vintage, from yet another expensive tea set Alfred had insisted he bring onto the Miletus. The Oracle is patched in, no visuals, into the room. Gordon remains unaware of the Oracle’s identity, and Bruce feels no need to interfere in the charade, yet. Gordon had seen stranger things in his involvement with Bruce.

The Glass Deck is a strange one, built to render awe in the seated from an uninhibited view of the visuals of the solar system. Bruce hadn’t made it open to the employees, choosing to keep it to the select few in his trusted circle. Alfred often remarked that it was his elected brooding spot, and while Bruce disagreed with the label, he did often utilize the space to relax and think. It provided no comfort, to view the space they drifted in, but it show him the urgency of the matters at hand.

“We’ll begin,” Bruce informs them, moving to his own seat and drawing up a small thread from his personal holoscreen and projecting it out onto the massive empty space before them. The glowing blue thread lingers for a few seconds before pulsing slightly with light and expanding. It expands into the content of Bruce’s recent dreams.

“What is that?”

Gordon is more than a little perturbed by the sight that lies before him.

“It’s a ship,” the Oracle states flatly. “And I can guess what for.”

“It’s a work of beauty,” Lucius tells them all. “Worked on it for two years, so I can guess what for, to an extent. But maybe we should let the man of the hour enlighten us.”

Bruce eyes Lucius, who stares back at him with the confidence that had supported Bruce through his earlier Kevlar and titanium days, when he’d been traversing through inner colonies and stations. Lucius had empowered him later, when he’d made the move to nanotech and upgraded from terrestrial colonies to surveyor stations, outer ring colonies, and fringe travel.

Lucius had been one of the first to figure out how to harness the comm pod technology to permit humanity to travel at unforetold speeds. Fringe travel, the colonies called it. It was still too new, too raw for most of humanity to grasp. Lucius’ work had given Batman the prowess and ability to rise as a vigilante.

Space pirate, they had called him in the beginning. Bruce had been a little disgruntled by the labelling, but had made his mark in the way he had liked as the years had gone by.

Lucius’ discoveries had helped keep Bruce’s boys safe, and for that, he knew he was indebted to the man.

“Prima facie it’s a flagship. Meant to withstand the tensions of fringing, for long long distances,” Lucius kept his eyes trained on Bruce. “There’s a cryo bay, a hydroponics segment, nav deck, quarters enough for five people, and the rest is focused on fringe engineering. It’s built specially for fringe travel, light baggage, and protection of passengers. To where, that’s the question. But I can guess about that too.”

Lucius enlarges the engineering deck.

“Built for fringing at a rate that’s three time faster than the fastest dreadnought humanity has. The bionic coverings I’ve developed will allow for multiple fringe events to occur one after the other, in quick succession. The max is eight jumps, that’s enough for the ship to get near the homeworld of the species closest to us.”

“Krypton,” the Oracle clarifies, and Bruce can detect a hint of anger in the way the words are uttered.

“Krypton is the farthest the flagship can get without imploding, yes.”

“Krypton is the worst place to go, no matter what kind of tech we have,” Gordon grits out. “They’re hardly civil during comm pod exchanges and you want to head out to them to talk? They’re more likely to shoot you down for infringing on their space. Themyscira might have been a better bet.”

"I'd agree," Oracle states, and data links pop up on top of the hologram of the flagship. "I'm assuming you've gone through all of this data? They're from the recent comm pod interactions we've had with the Kryptonians. There's nothing good."

Gordon looks at him expectantly. Bruce sighs.

"I've made my decision."

"A flight to Krypton, then," Lucius murmurs, rubbing a hand on his chin. "What are you going to do? It doesn’t seem wise to head out there without some thought about the kind of reception you’re going to receive."

"Negotiations," Bruce states, pulling up diagrams of his own to cover the influx of data from Oracle. "I'll be overseeing them. Handling them maybe. Get them to see us in a different light. I’ll intercept another comm pod exchange later this week, to tell them I’m coming. Whatever it is that's going on, they're not telling us something."

"And whatever it is that they're not telling us, is big," Gordon picks up.

“They’re more likely to divulge I think, when I’m sitting there.”

“Uncertain,” Oracle corrects. “We don’t know for sure.”

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Gordon mutters at Bruce’s adamancy.

"Correct," Lucius smiles. "I think we're going to have to up our ante if we want the T3 to safely dock on Krypton. It's a challenge, but I prefer being put to the test now than figure out the complications later."

"You do that," The sudden weariness in Gordon's voice is unexpected and Bruce raises an eyebrow at him. "I'll be vetting the rest of the passengers and taking care of security protocol aboard the, what is it called?"

"T3," Bruce supplies softly. "There won't be any other passengers."

"Not a chance," Oracle argues, the holograms going blank. Bruce realizes they're been deleted, copied for future reference. Access may be locked to his own data, Bruce thinks, and twists the bracelet he wears for show in feigned alarm. "There's no data on a flight like this, you need to take a crew."

"No."

"You haven't told anyone," Oracle mutters, and Bruce is certain that the realization is new. "You're going and you're going without telling anyone."

"I will."

"After you're in the clear from the docking arms maybe," Gordon states, leaning onto the raised back of the chair he's now redesigned his seat into. "Or is after the first few fringe events? Or do you not plan on keeping in touch once you’re gone?"

"Master Bruce is going nowhere without properly informing the others," Alfred enters, disappointment etched on his face. "Which involves informing his sons of his actions well beforehand. I take it he hasn't spoken of his date of departure?"

Bruce thinks Alfred is a touch too observant for his own good. That was one point Bruce hadn’t discussed yet with anyone.

Lucius turns to greet Alfred with a slight nod of his head. The two share some sentiments regarding Bruce, and it remains between them both. Bruce observes their nonverbal exchange for a moment before turning to reopen the diagram of the T3, drawn from the data reserve in the bracelet he has under his skin. The Thales 3 is the third in line from Lucius’ testing. The first one had inevitably failed extensive fringe travel tests. The second was flawed in design, but had withstood the tests. The T3 was nothing short of perfection, in Lucius’ mind.

"Next week."

"Well that's-"

Not unexpected, is what Gordon wants to say, Bruce thinks, but says nothing. The others have said everything he intended to, and better than he could have. He hadn't thought of how he would reveal it all, Bruce had been counting on Lucius and the Oracle to lay it out for everyone. Alfred had been an unexpected surprise, but Bruce is glad to have to told him the time of departure.

Alfred appears a little pale, focusing his eyes on Bruce's. The flat stoicism in Alfred's face is nothing he hasn’t been treated to before, but the coldness is new. Alfred takes the tray from where it floats next to Lucius and retreats stiffly. Bruce knows he's angered Alfred, but this time, he can do nothing to temper the anger the disappointment. He has to speak with his family, and it can't be put off for much longer now that Alfred is visibly upset at him. His children are exceeding clever. They'll be at his throat soon enough.

"Is there a plan?" Oracle asks, finally.

"Of sort," Bruce admits. "I have no knowledge of Krypton aside from the comm pod archives. I'll need to get into their docking space. Comm pod archives show that they're aware of Batman's relevance. That should be enough to prevent any unnecessary hostility."

"Batman," The musing is stifled, Gordon doesn't appear to want to fight Bruce on the matter any longer. Bruce doesn’t know if the turn is advantageous. "You're going alone as Batman so that if things don't go right, Batman takes all the blame. Doesn’t that remind of you something?"

Lucius takes in the sudden stiffness in Bruce. Harvey Dent is a sore topic for the Wayne Heir. When they'd been younger, Bruce had been inexplicably fond of the man, only to relinquish the hold on the bright politician when Rachel Dawes had expressed her interest in the man. Lucius often wondered on the route the relationship between the two men would have taken if Bruce wasn't secreting away the truer parts of him to Batman and Harvey Dent hadn't been overpowered by the malevolence behind the acid attack on his person on a station he'd been visiting. Bruce had taken the loss of the consciousness of the man to his alternate personality hard. Harvey Dent before his attack would have been someone he'd have thrust at Bruce now.

"Krypton can be dealt with. Themyscira and Atlantis are an unlikely bet, both in political matters and in traveling distance," Bruce evades Gordon's question entirely, continuing along with his earlier train of thought. "Their council converses with all the others, if I can get in, that should be enough to set up communication with all the others, including Earth."

"We don’t know how many there are. There are enough and more that we can't even understand the language of," Oracle argues.

"We're wasting time," Bruce points out. "If you can't see that they don’t intend to include us, that they don't care what happens to us, then you won't be able to see the reason behind this."

"What if they're keeping us away for a reason?" Gordon questions quietly. "Maybe we're not meant to get involved in whatever it is that they're fighting over."

Bruce simply opens up another data link. A comm pod recording.

"Councilor."

The Kryptonian council.

"Leader Waller," the voice hisses out. "You have yet to realize that your efforts are an exercise in futility."

"Anything that ensures the welfare of my people is not futile, I assure you."

"This is."

"You don't tell us anything, and you throw vague hints at us, and you expect us to swallow them with gratitude?"

"Great Rao. You are nothing but trouble. Krypton has its own concerns that must be dealt with. You cannot ask for aid in times such as these."

"Tell us what those troubles are, maybe we can help."

"You cannot."

"Then tell us what it is that has all of you scared. At least that. There doesn’t seem to be any cause for war amongst you all, but you're all preparing for it, from what I can tell. Which begs the question, war against what?"

"You address us with disrespect, treat us as creatures."

"Aliens."

"Do not forget, you are the same to our people."

"I know, but we aren't the ones belittling others and being purposefully obtuse. Whatever you can tell us about what's coming will be useful."

Static and silence follows, indicating disturbances in the comm pod connection. Gordon has certainly taken an interest in the exchange, though he prefers to stay out of galactic politics, the security work he does is enough to tire him out.

"Something comes, human. Something your species has no comprehension of, and cannot, for you lack the mental faculties. In dark space, it hibernated for cycles, but it has awoken recently. Our scouts indicate that it awakens. Once it is fully recovered from its heavy slumber, it will come."

"What does it want?"

"I will not speak of it further."

"You realize councilor, you're expecting me to work with near nothing."

"We do the same human."

"When will it start moving towards us?"

"You will know."

"Care to tell me how I will know?"

"No further, Waller."

The data link closes once the conversation ends, leaving only a string of data visible to the room's occupants. Gordon doesn't appear convinced and Oracle, Bruce is sure, is already conducting a search for similar data streams in the comm pod archives. Lucius requires no further convincing, he'd already expressed his approval the moment Bruce had presented the alterations required for the T3 flagship.

"Other conversations with Themyscira and Atlantis run along the same lines, though Atlantis refuses to divulge on all matters. Their king isn’t as amicable as previously thought. Krypton will have to do, and with the sparse Kryptonian in comm pod archives, it should be enough to manage the docking.”

"Right," Gordon manages, shifting in his chair. "I suppose there's no arguing with you about this."

"No, I don't think so."

"Well," Lucius states, rising. "I've started with the preparations for the T3. It should be fringe-ready by the end of the week. I’ll make the necessary adjustments for this particular trip. What time next week do you plan to leave?"

Bruce considers his other obligations, and Alfred.

"Early next week," he decides. Better to leave early and let the fallout occur quickly than to prolong it. "Testing and simulation results need to be looked over by this weekend."

Lucius doesn't seem to be surprised at his request. The man gives Bruce a knowing look and tips his head, smiling slightly, before turning to head out of the Glass Deck. Gordon departs behind him, his silhouette dark against the visual behind him.

"You have to tell the boys."

Bruce glanced up at the speaker system at Oracle's demands. He didn't grant her a reply, only nodding slightly as he too left, sparing one glance at the visage of Jupiter that was beginning to creep in through the edges of the screen.

\---

"The Kryptonian Council refuses to cooperate. Any communication we have of the other systems is severely impeded by the Council's refusal to develop dialogue with us. While people have argued that the advanced civilization doesn’t have to engage in discourse with us, it's important that we show them that humanity is worthy of a seat in the council of species. We're just as important. At the least, we should be afforded respect -"

"Respect for what," Jason manages to ask through a mouthful of food.

"No screens at the dinner table, Master Jason," Alfred chastises lightly, and Jason mutes it, captions immediately unfurling at the bottom of the screen.

"They're not going to get respect from anybody," A fork waves in the air at the talk show host as Dick explains. "Our official narrative is that the aliens are uncooperative, dictatorial, prejudiced. It's slander from all sides and then they expect respect?"

"Basic human right," Jason reads out from the captions. "Deserves and expects."

"Bruce doesn’t like that train of thought," Dick points out. "Batman is hush about it, pessimistic almost. Wonder what they're going to run when Bruce intercepts the next comm pod communication."

Tim, in the middle of stealing a roll from Jason's plate, sighs slightly at Dick's words.

"Oh c'mon Jaybird, you can't tell me that the news wasn't exciting after last time!"

"I can tell you that everything went as expected, dickhead."

"Right," Dick drawls. "Like you didn't enjoy hearing them crucify Bruce's approach. Like you didn't giggle-"

"I don't fucking giggle, you-"

"Boys," Bruce's voice is a steady baritone that drifts over the small dining area in Bruce's quarters. On the job, it's insisted that everyone eats in the common mess, but more often than not, everyone piles into Bruce's quarters, be it for dinner, games, or to simply gather for other occasions.

Alfred, in the wisdom gleaned from the numerous years he's spent providing care for Bruce, realizes that Bruce is going to tell the boys of his plans. No tact, he reminds himself, not something Bruce had developed over the decades, though Alfred had hoped he might have, ever since the boys had begun to trickle into the family.

Dick is the first to notice that Bruce is unusually stiff.

"What's up?" Dicks asks quietly, pulling out a seat for Bruce next to himself. "You don't look too good, B. Everything go okay with the meeting you had? Some of the e-deck guys told me you had a meet with Gordon and Lucius."

Bruce settles in without so much as a word, but acknowledges Dick's comment with a nod. Dick watches him, patiently waiting for a response.

"I have an announcement to make," Bruce says before he is interrupted any further by his children. "And you will listen carefully."

"What?"

"You will notice that dinner is especially late today, Father," Damian drawls, but his eyes are sharp and calculating. On some days, they remind Bruce a little more than he handle of Talia.

Tim watches them all silently, and for the understanding in his eyes, Alfred is grateful. Dick appears confused, but Jason has grown wary. Alfred silently prays that Bruce is tactful in his revelations.

"Tell us then."

Bruce steadies himself, eyes locked onto Jason's. The disappointment in Jason's eyes is palpable, Bruce has trained himself to look for it, to be sensitive to it, meaning he catches on quicker than most. Consequently, it has eaten away at him, Bruce thinks, but it is nothing he doesn’t deserve.

"There's been a recent development in the project I've had Lucius working on for the past year or so," Bruce begins again. The four before are silent now, and Alfred watches from the other side of the room, where he's situated himself before Bruce had begun. Bruce lets his gaze wander from Jason's, and pauses at Tim's. There's understanding in there that reassures Bruce. "I've been developing a way to deal with the communication and political issues with the other species. It's an unorthodox method, but Lucius and I have developed a solid answer."

"What else did you do with the comm pod tech? Don't evade, I know it was related to the inquiries we made on about the tech. What did tell Lucius to do?" Dick asks slowly. "Bruce-"

"A flagship," Bruce interrupts him, but Dick isn't deterred, barreling ahead to finish his sentence.

"-it isn't safe."

"Well fuck me." Jason snarls, throwing his fork onto the plate with a clang. "Well, here's me saying my goodbyes."

Bruce had expected as much, but the physical manifestation of Jason's disappointment and attitude towards him is, as always, crushing.

"J, stop it," Dick snaps, noticing Bruce's discomfort. "Bruce, what are you going to do with the flagship?"

Jason stares at Bruce, noting the stiffness. Something flickers in his eyes, an emotion Bruce can't decipher, before tearing his eyes away from Bruce's. The disposition Jason has now is more relaxed than before. Bruce is aware that Jason expects them to speak, later. For now, Jason requires space to process things.

"Isn't is fucking obvious?" Up and out of his seat, Jason strides over to Alfred to dispose of his cutlery and dishes. "He can't do anything here, so he's going to them."

Damian, Bruce notes, is nowhere to be seen. Damian and his thoughts of aliens, Bruce thinks, will require a good amount of time to sort through. For now, he focuses on the two remaining sons in the room.

"Bruce," Dick's voice is soft, but the hand on his arm is tight. "Tell me that's not it."

Bruce looks at the veins jutting out slightly on Dick's hand. He recalls when Dick's hands were soft and untainted by the tasks they undertook. He swallows as he remembers the light green and yellow of Dick's first uniform, in sharp contrast to the midnight hues of his own.

"I can't," Bruce says, shaking Dick's hand off and reaching for his food. Dick retracts his hand but doesn’t move from his seat. Alfred remains in the room, Damian and Jason both long gone. Tim is the only one who hasn't spoken, silently observing the happenings as he consumes his dinner. Bruce eyes him worriedly. "Tim?"

"I sort of knew," Tim mumbles. "I wanted to know why we were buying that much comm pod tech from all those sources. I figured, well, I thought it wasn't going to work out this soon, so I didn't say anything."

"Ok," Bruce doesn’t berate him for looking. It makes him proud even. Tim's eyes are accusing when he turns them back to Bruce as he continues to speak.

"I knew what, but I didn't know when. This, it blindsided me."

Tim's voice wavers, but he doesn't seem to want to depart like his brothers. He returns his attention to his food, but not before he glances at Dick. Bruce doesn’t want to look at Dick, not yet anyhow. Dick, it burns him sometimes how his eldest had left him for Bludhaven, only to return for the Io station's preliminary set up years. Dick will return to Bludhaven, and Jason will depart alongside him.

Bruce glances up at Alfred, receiving only a raised brow. Sighing, he turns to his food. The rest of dinner is swathed in silence. Bruce eats slowly, paying attention to the food, as he has not done in days. Tim leaves sometime before Bruce finishes, but Dick remains, even as Bruce cleans away the evidence.

"We need to talk," The plate in Bruce's hand clatters down on top of the others. He had expected this, but he'd been lost in thought when Dick had come up to him. A hand rests on his back. Dick is far more tactile now than before, a byproduct of having to attend to his medical needs in lieu of Alfred attending to other boys. "Now, Bruce."

"Talk," Bruce grunts out.

"Yes," Dick insists before realizing that he was meant to expand. "Oh right! Look, I get that it's an ideal solution, to head out there and talk to them. But, it doesn’t seem like the safest option, Bruce. Jason just came back and settled in. Damian's settling down around Tim. This isn't, I don't know how we'll handle everything if-"

"If?" Bruce prompts.

"If something goes wrong," the voice is hoarse and Dick appears to be building up on his anger. "If something happens that we're not ready for. Jesus Bruce, do you need me to spell it out for you? No one's done something like this before. A flagship? To one of the planets? That's a distance no one's covered, and don't get me started on Lucius' enabling of your ideas."

Bruce's breaths deepen as he begins to decipher Dick's train of thought.

"If I die," Bruce points out and Dick stiffens.

"Yeah!" The defensiveness in Dick's tone is something Bruce is intimately familiar with. "Die! Great! Not like that's not a possibility."

"Lucius has ensured to the best of his abili-"

"Comfort," snaps Dick. "You're supposed to comfort us, not give us the facts. We know the facts. What we need right now, what I need - is for you to comfort me. I know what the risks are Bruce, and I know I can't stop you, so I don't need you to talk about that. Tell me you'll be ok."

"I will be. Lucius and I will see to it."

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Bruce. Listen to me, Bruce. When I ask you tell me you'll be ok, I mean I want to hear your voice."

Dick's voice is growing ragged.

"Tell me you'll be there when I call over the commlink, tell me you'll come back. Answer me when I call, damn it. Don't push us away, don't act like you hadn't thought about doing that. I know you, Bruce. Tell me, Jesus, tell me you'll pick up, tell me you'll come back to m- us."

Bruce opens his mouth but Dick rushes on.

"In one piece. Come back in one piece, and alive, and well."

Upon opening his mouth once more, Bruce finds he cannot think of what to say, and what bursts forth instead is something raw and unintended. He hadn't expected for Dick to lay it all bare in front of him. Though, he thinks, the circumstances he's sprung on them merit such responses. What comes out disappoints him, and Dick, he's sure.

"If I don’t, you need to take charge."

Dick snaps his gaze back to Bruce's, pushing him back to the counter.

"You can't drop that responsibility on me like this," Dick snarls thickly. "You're going to promise me. You're going to come back. You're not just going to go up and then not - not -"

In the pause that Dick takes to steady himself, Bruce permits himself one small act of comfort, reaching for his eldest son and wrapping his arms around a hefty frame, nothing like the frail little boy that had done acrobatics around him during their nights in the Gotham colonies on Mars. Dick's breath hitches as Bruce's arms around him tighten, drawing him inwards into Bruce's embrace. My son, Bruce thinks fiercely, and wonders if this is how his father felt in the moments in the alley. Facing his death on one end, and his life, his son, on the other.

"I will try," Bruce relents, it isn't often that he permits himself to be open about such matters, but Dick is not someone he can deny so easily. His children are a weakness that Bruce cherishes. "You need to do what I say."

"God Bruce," Dick mumbles into the shoulder of his uniform, where there is a growing wet spot from tears, Bruce thinks. "I'll try, but don't be difficult about this, okay? I don’t want to think about that right now, not when you're-"

Bruce lets his hand wander upwards to press comfortingly into the dark hair of his firstborn, cradling Dick's head into his shoulder.

It hits him then, that this will be the first journey he will make in several years, without one of his children by his side. Tightening his grip on Dick, Bruce holds his son closer, possessively, as he realizes that the forthcoming days may be the last time he would be able to hold his children. Dick trembling in his arms, Bruce wonders if this is how Alfred had felt when Bruce had announced his departure date in the Glass Deck.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An introduction to Krypton and Kal-El, as well as Bruce's departure.

Kandor is nothing like what it had been in the years before. Kal-El recalls little of how the city used to be before the frenzies of despair had spread across Krypton to the capital city. It had been a marvel of architecture and accomplishment, the seat of the Council. It differed from his own birthplace of Kryptonopolis in many ways as the citadel of his people.

Kal glances at his company members. It was rare to be called to the capital for the addressing of military matters, though he is sure his father's hand works in between somewhere to necessitate such a gathering. He had after all, promised his father a few rises ago that he would be there to support his father's presentation to the Council.

Jor-El, in one rise cycle, had been the leader of the Council, now transferred to the scientific caste to exercise abundant freedom to develop a solution to the horrors that now lay before the Kryptonian people. His father had requested that the best of the Kryptonian military accompany Kal to the meeting of the Council. Kal stays silent throughout the flight to the citadel which houses the leaders of his people, his subordinates gliding close behind him, the greatest of the superpowered Kryptonians to grace their planets in their generation.

 _Kal_ , his father's voice calls to him from the inner workings of the citadel, tinged in worry. _You are nearing lateness._

 _I'm close_ , Kal projects to his father, thankful for the Kryptonian ability of telepathic communication, which he is aware that several other species lack. He shudders at the thought of not being able to reach out to those around him, and wonders at how the primitive ones survive. _I will reach shortly at the docking area_.

 _Very well_ , his father sends. _Quickly_.

Kal gestures to the others behind and they pick up speed, gliding under a luminescent bridge and racing towards the docking area of the citadel, where the ships land for storage. He lands softly and marches forward, strong strides setting him apart from the non-superpowered Kryptonians that walk the docking port aside him. They part for him, recognizing his house seal immediately.

"Kal-El", a woman calls out from the massive entrance to the citadel. The towering entrance glows with the Kryptonian minerals imbued in the architecture, the light diffusing and growing easier on the eyes as Kal approaches the structure. "Hurry, they await your presence."

Nodding, he strides into the darkness of the doorway, knowing it will lead him immediately to his destination. Such are the machinations of Kryptonian architecture. The chamber of the Council manifests before him, the dark hues of the structure lit up by the glow of the seats of the Council members.

  _Father_ , he projects, receiving a tender pat in reply.

  _Wait by the side_ , Jor-El tells him, and Kal obeys. The others in his command follow his example and they retreat to the opening of the chamber, where they will remain until his father demands otherwise.

 The Council seem impatient and Kal senses this even without letting the tendrils of his enhanced telepathic abilities out. What his father intends to say will put them off even further, and Kal is not sure that will be a manageable outcome this time around, despite his father ranking the highest in the Scientist caste.

“Begin, Jor-El.” The Council commands.

Jor-El moves forward from the shadows, a small cube of light in his hands. Kal recognizes the technology of the Ancient Ones, he grew up immersed in it as a child, a by product of his father being a forerunner of the Scientist caste at that time. It was only later that Jor-El had reduced his studies in science to tend to the duties of the Council.

“Yes,” Jor-El replies, throwing out the cube to the center of the chamber, whereupon it explodes into a series of moving pictures and symbols, each holding a multitude of meanings decipherable to the scientist caste, and to certain members of the Council. “As tasked, I have worked on the defenses. You will see a fully sentient structure in place around the planet in the next few rises. It operates according to your stipulations, though we had some alterations made in light of new data.”

“The ones we received from the Themiscyrans?” A member scoffs.

Kal nearly grits his teeth at the disdain for the other species the Council member displays, but is quickly reminded of his own thoughts earlier of the primitive species and shuts down his emotional reaction. The Council has remained more or less hostile towards the other worlds for so long.

“They are not to be trusted,” Yet another speaks.

Jor-El is patient.

“We verified their findings with the recent company of scouts sent out,” Jor-El states, moving aside the picture to replace it with symbols. “They were right in their reports. The creatures multiply ceaselessly and without a pattern. It seems that the mere presence of the cosmic energy is enough for them to duplicate in endless numbers. They never seem to tire.”

“And are they awake?”

Jor-El throws a shrewd look and Kal is aware that if his father had not been a former leader of the Council, he would have certainly been thrown out for that insubordination. The very trait that had gotten Kal nearly thrown from the Military caste a few times. He is however, glad that they both carry it.

“Not yet, though I suspect their awakening will be sooner than expected,” the musing does not seem to affect the Council, Kal notes. “You see the urgency, I hope?”

A slow murmur rises and falls between the seated spectators.

“Perhaps.”

“Then you see the need to reach out to Thanagar, the Thanagarians are in possession of the Nth metal. Only they have it, and if we could but procure a little, we would be able to mount our defenses in greater strength,” The distilled murmur rises with a fury in light of Jor-El’s words, but he ignores them, continuing on. “Their weapons system is undoubtedly remarkable, and of greater power than our own. If we wish to survive, we will need to leave our world.”

“No, and you know why.”

Jor-El’s exasperation carries into the channel Kal now has open. He fears for this father. The Council is known for their xenophobia. Kryptonians have not been allowed to leave their homeworld in several rotations. Only the military scouts are permitted to leave, and do so under strict surveillance. To make contact with other species was forbidden, and the law with the greatest punishment, exile.

“Well, do something. We require that metal. We do not have an equivalent here on Krypton and it is unlikely that we will forge a new element all on our own, not when we have worked so exhaustively over the past few rotations and come to nothing.”

“At the least, you lot are fond of Atlantis, get Orin to procure the metals for you and then have him ship it here. His flagships require no creature to man them.”

“They will not entire our space.”

Anger rises in Jor-El and Kal feels his emotions mirror that of his father’s. Unwise, he reminds himself, know where you belong.

“Our scouts are more than capable of locating a ship before it enters our territories. And the military companys will enter and receive the material. This ship can be destroyed or looted according to the Council’s demands.”

Kal steps forth, his soldiers with him. Jor-El waves a hand at them.

“Kal-El will ensure thus.”

The Council members scrutinize Kal, and for a moment, he feels threatened by the disdain and prejudice on their faces. He feels as though he does belong. A hand brushes the cape he wears subtly, and he gathers himself.

“Your son, I take it?”

“With him stands the house of An, for Law, the house of Do for strength, the house of Tor for secrets, the house of Lor for journey, and the house of Ur for crisis. A matched company that will serve and represent us well.”

“And at their head, Kal-El of the house of _hope_ , I take it.”

“Yes?”

“Not an issue.”

“Then it is agreed?”

The Council members shoots Jor-El a withering glare.

“It means that we will speak of it in the next few rises. Do not tempt us, young one. We are aware of your intellectual prowess and the talents you have brought to your caste, but the Ancient Laws remain. We are to be isolated, at all costs, from the other worlds. Our culture is too fragile for interference, and you are not so young that we cannot find a replacement.”

Kal bristles at the slight against his father, struggling to conceal it.

“Dismissed,” the Council member drawls.

Jor-El glances at Kal.

Leave and meet me at the far end of the docking port, Jor-El projects. I must speak to you before you return to your duties.

Kal-El nods, leading his people out of the entrance. The docking port is a walk off, and Kal takes off, the others beside him. They rise in unison, their flight seamless in structure.

“What an idiot,” Este murmurs beside him, her light cloak catching as she glides closer towards him. “I am from the house of An and I tell you Kal, my father supports your father.”

“I know,” Kal tells her. “I worry more for the Council’s support than the support of the Great Houses.”

They land at a secluded area in the docking port. Jor-El waits for them in a nearby alleyway leading out. Kal turns to the company members, telling them to stay back while he speaks with his father. Veir grunts in rebellion and trudges forward with Kal to meet his father.

Veir Tor, of the house of secrets, myths, and ambiguity. One word from Veir to his father had the entire house up in arms about the exploration of the unknown that Jor-El was promising. They wanted in, more than anyone else, and had offered more in resources than the other houses, for a project that Jor-El was conducting on the side, unknown to the Council.

“Veir Tor”, Kal’s father greets the man, who nods in return. Jor-El seems amused by the stoicism of the military scout. “Kal.”

The voice softens as Kal is addressed.

“You paid careful attention, I hope,” Jor-El inquires and seems satisfied by the nod that Kal offers eagerly. A small smile plays upon his lips despite the seriousness of the situation. “They say they are convening to talk, but it is unlikely that they will speak to either of the two worlds.”

“They are prideful,” Kal murmurs.

Jor-El sighs.

“No, they are not,” the man explains gently. “They act rightly. Our history is set aflame by the mistakes we made whilst interacting with other species.”

Kal remains silent.

“But that is not to say at all times the outcomes will be negative, “ Jor-El continues, glancing at Veir. The House of Veir had insisted on exploration from an early rotation, but their voices were now diminished by the efforts of the Council. “It is unlikely that the other worlds are going to ignore talks of cooperation, not now, with Darkseid as our common concern.”

“They will not be eager, but it will be a genuine matter of discussion,” Veir agrees. “To join hands with the other worlds. It will be a pragmatic solution to some. But not the Council I suppose.”

“No,” At this utterance, Jor-El looks wearied and Kal is suddenly overcome with the realization that he has not truly looked upon his father in several rotations. His father seems tired, and most of all, in dismay. It is not a look Kal likes on his father. The Council is hacking away at his father, and for this, Kal feels his anger grow. His father seems to realize and throws Kal a sharp look of reprimand, for which Kal sheepishly corrects himself. “You will have to do something for me.”

Jor-El looks to the both of them.

“It will not go over well if it is found out what you are to do.”

Veir huffs, a sign of dismissal. That one, Kal thinks, always had a penchant for being contrarian, even if the situation did not call for it. Kal nods at his father.

“Yours is the company of the highest status and command,” Jor-El states, eyes hard. “What I ask of you will jeopardize everything you have worked for, if you are caught, it will bring to ruins both you and your Great House. You may leave now, if you wish, I do not want to force you.”

“You cannot chase any one of us away, Jor-El,” Oira’s voice carries slightly as the others join the group. She glances at Kal. “The House of Ran is known for influence and persuasion. You cannot leave me, or the others. Perhaps you will find usefulness in each of us.”

“We swore to follow Kal-El, even to the depths of Rao’s nodes,” Fir adds, laughter in his voice and Kal colors at the childish joke. Jor-El surveys them and acquiesces.

“You will take great care in the task I am giving to you,” Jor-El’s voice lowers and slows. “During your trips beyond Krypton, every single artefact that belongs to the Ancient Ones must be brought back to me discretely. You must not be seen. Do you understand?”

“How will we bring it back?” Oira asks, breathless at the thought of the high treason they were going to commit.

“That is left up to you,” Jor-El replies. “Be creative in your methods child, but do not, I beg of you, be caught.”

Oira nods.

A light wave rushes through Kal-El, and he turns to the others, who look at him in return. They have felt it too then, a call back to their military structures.

“I see you must go,” Jor-El states, and the others begin to depart, leaving Kal-El with his father. His father walks closer, lifting a hand to rest on the back of Kal’s neck, drawing them closer together until their foreheads are almost touching. “You will speak to me later, Kal-El.”

“Yes, father,” Kal murmurs, leaning into his father’s touch. Rao, it has been far too many rotations without his parents. “I will.”

They pull apart and with a push of his knees, Kal bursts off into the air of Kandor, racing towards his company.

\---

The military works them to their limits, as superpowered Kryptonians. Kal-El’s company is aware that what they have been given is a blessing. Their powers elevate them to a level above the rest of the non-superpowered Kryptonians that roam the planet. They remain, in a way, above the others, and untouchable at times by even the Council that rules their species.

“You can’t expect us to attempt such a crude transfer,” Sven states, staring at the plans that Oira has drawn up. The company member hails from the House of Da, of harmony, synergy, and something else along the same lines that Kal cannot recall now. Not now when his heart is pounding with the thought of bringing in their largest haul of Ancient One technology.

“You’re too much of a soft-hearted one to understand how something like this can be done,” Oira scoffs.

“And I think you get far too much done just from your house traits,” Sven murmurs, causing Oira to color. “But if you think this can be done, I will follow you.”

The indignation behind her coloring turns to something else, and Kal huffs at the both of them in amusement. His company was tight knit, and it seemed that their bonds would only be growing closer.

“I say we take the freighter to the side of the party and salvage ourselves.”

All them of turn to glare at Aer.

“Don’t be pigheaded about this,” Oira reprimands him. “Best company or not, we still have rules to follow.”

“Not all the time,” Aer drawls, and Oira nearly throws her goblet at him. The House of Ur was one that turned everyone on edge, and Aer was certainly not one of the better behaved ones. Attack, crisis, and chaos, Kal recalls. Not a combination for secrecy. “But this time, we may need it. Look at it, the size of it. Do you really think we’ll be able to hide it with the other loot?”

“Well, we can have four of us go together and try and bring it home.”

“Not likely, we’d need a lot more than usual to cover up that catch.”

“We’ll get more to join in.”

“And break our usual pattern, don’t be naïve. The others will notice right away.”

“We’ll have an injury substantiate our movements.”

“Injury from what? Kryptonite? Highly unlikely seeing the sector that we’re headed to.”

“No,” Veir interrupts them. “We will attempt to cover it with a psionic cloth.”

Oira gapes at him.

“And where will get that?” Sven asks, confusion apparent on his face.

“Nowhere,” Oira mutters. “Rao will need to descend and offer us one himself.”

“My family.”

Ishta rises from her seat at the back of the room, zooming impossibly close to Veir.

“What?”

Veir throws her a look of disdain, “As I said earlier, my family. I’ve managed to procure one on the account of a religious festival pertaining to my house.”

“Brilliant,” Kal breathes, reaching out to hit his closest friend in his excitement.

Veir huffs, his eyes rolling.

“A coincidence that I exploited, is all that this is.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Kal urges. “This is great for us, so as long you have it, we can bring in much of the technology than we usually can. Father will be pleased.”

Veir stares him at him for a moment, evenly enough that discomfort rises through Kal.

“What?” Kal asks defensively.

“Cloth or not,” Veir says slowly. “Don’t forget the gravity of the situation at hand, we should be careful about our hoard,"

“I –” Kal begins but seeing the hardness in his friend’s eyes, tapers off. “Yes, of course.”

Ishta rises, the emblem of the House of Lor, of journey, of evolution, shining as she does.

“The command is given. Time to leave.”

Kal nods at her.

\---

“Listen to me!” Aer roars at Ishta, flying closer. “They’re arriving in greater numbers than we anticipated. Quickly!”

Ishta curses under her breath, returning her gaze to the large black orb floating in front of her eyes. The space surrounding them is filled with treacherous debris. She has to pack it carefully in the psionic cloth.

“Bir,” Ishta barks, too distraught for telepathic communication despite the clatter of Kryptonian fires surrounding her. “Push!”

The hands on the other side of the artefact push the psionic cloth to its limits. It stretches from simple mind instructions, but for its true operations, the touch of a Kryptonian is often required, and this is task, even for Ishta, her house having created the earliest psionic cloth.

 _It is not spreading as far as I had predicted, Kal_ , Veir snarls into Kal’s mind, distracting him from his foraging. _Hold the others off_.

Kal glances the approaching companies. He knows that if he lets them pass, they will surely see that task the occupies IShta and Bir. Slamming a hand down onto the mineral of an exhausted comet, he shatters it, distracting the others as he flies towards them.

There appears to be a total of thirty of them. Normal scouts, nothing high in command, but nevertheless, faithful followers of the Council. A single word or action that could arouse suspicion in the them will make its way to the Council, Kal knows.

He slows as he approaches them.

“Kal-El!” An excited voice cries out. He approaches its source, a woman.

“Are you the leader of the company?” Kal asks, eyeing the other Kryptonians.

“No, we are a regiment,” She replies, eagerness in her frame as she glides closer slowly, as if exalted by his presence. Her eyes rise to his, shyly. Kal can tell of her attraction right away. “Este Feor-An. I am leading this regiment to the northern sector, to locate possible sources of solar pulses. I am merely passing through. I will not tarry long, but I can, if you should like us to do something.”

An, Kal thinks weakly, the House of Law. He needs to keep her here for longer, until word arrives from Veir or Ishta or Bir.

A regiment, Kal projects to Veir. House of Law, hurry. I can keep her here for a while.

A grunt from Veir is all he receives.

“A member of the House of An as leader of a regiment,” Kal murmurs. “Your people are doing well.”

Este flushes in delight at his acknowledgement.

“Yes, we are,” She states, rising towards him. Too close, Kal thinks, if only I could shout that I have no interest in any one of you. “Do you not have a member of my house in your company?”

“A very talented one.” Kal confirms. “Bir-An.”

“He was always one to be ahead of others,” Este remarks. “I noticed there is room for one more in your command. Why do you leave it open? Are you perhaps waiting for someone?”

“I-“

“I could resolve your issue, given both my talents and my house.”

The remark is offered with a light tone, but it sets off Kal. This could go wrong, horribly wrong, if Este were to join them. She sets him off, in a bad way. He thinks quickly.

“I save it for a young member of the House of Zar.”

Este winces, just as Kal had predicted and takes the bait.

“All the politics you must be dealing with for that,” She comments lightly, motioning for her regiment to stand down. “Rao, that will be hard. Perhaps I can offer some advice.”

“I must attend to my other duties,” Kal informs her and she nods. “But I would like to listen, for I do not know when we will meet again.”

Este laughs and leans closer, “Very well.”

\---

“What is he thinking?” Ishta grunts as she forces her energy on the psionic cloth under her hands. “That woman of all people?”

“Don’t blame him, you would do the same if you were there out with her,” Bir snaps back from across the artefact. It is larger than either of them, perhaps even four of them combined and psionic cloth struggles to cover all of it. “You need to see to the other corner.”

“I am!” Sven shouts from another end. Ishta cranes her head to see both Oira and Sven struggling with solar output on the other end of the psionic cloth. Cursing, she withdraws her hand and her solar output into the psionic cloth, causing it to shrink considerably.

“Ishta!” Bir snaps. “What are you doing?”

“Imbecile,” She snarls at him. “I will not waste time on a solution that will not work.”

She isn’t going to be offer me much more than this, Kal-El projects and Ishta tenses.

“Veir!” She calls.

The other Kryptonian slides over to them from where he has been amassing other minerals.

“We have no time,” Snapping the psionic cloth off, Ishta gestures at the artefact. “We need to get this out of sight. We’ll take care of it later. You and Aer will take care of this, the others and I will amass enough minerals to diffuse suspicion.”

“No,” Veir’s voice is low. “Este sees our marks on this artefact and she will run to her father the first chance she gets. This is unauthorized behavior. A scout regiment will not miss such a thing. Not when they are trained their whole lives to spot these kinds of details.”

“We will try again,” Ishta commands, turning from him, the psionic cloth spreading as she pushes out more solar output. Veir draws closer and rests his hand on her arm, eyes fixed on her face. She frowns at his unusual behavior. “What?”

“Break it,” Veir murmurs, then turns to Oira. “Call Kax!”

“What? Why? I can handle this!” The hurt in Oira’s voice is clear.

Veir huffs and rolls his eyes.

“I need his brute strength,” he reminds Oira. “Or did you somehow forge your birth papers to show the House of Ran when you are really from the House of Do?”

The Great House of Strength, Ishta thinks dazedly.

“Do it,” She commands Oira. “Call Kax. You and Sven retreat to forage. You will be good distractions for Este. Bir, you too, you’re from her house. She will think it suspicious if you don’t greet her and Kal-El.”

Oira nods, Sven already flying away.

Kax arrives with a burst of speed, nearly colliding with Veir, who shoves him off towards Ishta.

“I heard,” Kax mutters at Ishta when she opens her mouth to inform him of his task. Blinking in surprise at his calmness, Ishta withdraws to a safe distance. “Warn Kal.”

Kal-El, Ishta cries out.

Kax slams into the artefact with a force Ishta could not have predicted. The resounding sound resembles the breaking of land on Krypton. Ishta wrenches her eyes closed.

They have failed, she thinks, as she awaits the voices of the regiment.

“Idiot,” Kax murmurs. “Open your eyes.”

Ishta snaps them open, gaping at the man. Kax’s arm is raised, pointing at something behind her. Ishta turns.

A fire.

Sven and Oira had timed it well, Ishta thinks gratefully, the psionic cloth growing in her hand, a plan forming in her mind as she turns back to the two men floating in front of the shattered artefact.

“Gather as much as you can,” Ishta croaks out, tossing the cloth to Veir, who grins at her.

\---

Kal and Este round on Oira, Sven, Fir, Bir, and Aer, their talks of the newest would-be recruit, Aina Keor-Zar, having ended a while ago. Este surveys them for a while before her eyes land on Bir and Aer, both of them huddled over a rare mineral. She tugs Kal towards them.

There had been an explosion in this area that had caught their interest, the rumblings drawing them closer. Este had spotted Bir and then insisted on meeting her brother.

“I trust that he’s not being a bother,” Este murmurs, causing Bir to huff and roll his eyes. Kal thinks his entire company does too much of it. “If you should know, though he was ahead of the others, he was also fond of cheating.”

Bir bristles at the comment but smiles at her.

“And how is your father?” He asks her and Este laughs. “You seem to be doing well.”

“He awaits your return,” Este says slyly, and Kal is reminded that Bir has been betrothed to a women he despised since his birth. It is partly why the man is adamant on remaining in the military for longer than necessary. “It is good to see you, though I am surprised at the company you keep.”

Everyone glances at Aer. It is a long standing rivalry, the feud between the House of An and Ur. Law and Chaos. Bir’s hands tighten on the mineral that he holds. The prejudice on Krypton is both towards outsiders and insiders. The caste system is one of misery sometimes, Kal thinks, as Aer retreats from the conversation, Bir’s eyes following him for just a little too long. While it may appear as concern for Este, Kal knows it is more than that. He will have to warn Bir to be more secretive in the future.

“Whatever,” Bir tells her. “At least I’m not dallying when I should be working.”

This seems to strike something in Este and she straightens herself. “Kal-El asked me to stay for a moment.”

The voice is sweet and sickening to Kal.

“Though I am glad to have spent time with you,” Este turns to him, voice lowering as she considers him. “I must depart now. Work takes precedence. For now.”

The last part is but murmured for Kal, and he can’t help but feel sickened. No one, Kal swears, I will take no one as my beloved.

 _Kal_ , Veir’s voice filters into his mind, _let her through_.

 _Alright,_ Kal replies.

As he watches Este’s regiment fly in through the debris cloud, Kal breathes a sigh of relief, mirrored by Veir’s own as they remain connected telepathically.

 _Home, now_ , Veir grunts out and Kal nearly cries from approval of the thought. _Our load today is heavier than Kax._

 _Watch it_ , Kax’s tone rumbles through them.

Veir laughs aloud, flying through the floating mineral deposits towards Kal, and Kal feels the rush of success, of safety, flooding through him.

\---

“Don’t tell me you’re taking Lucius’ offer of cryogenics seriously?” Dick exclaims from somewhere behind the counter. Bruce sighs, setting down his drink as he considers his firstborn.

“I’m considering it,” Bruce replies, sidestepping the batarang that his youngest throws at his head from the dark corner of the chamber ceiling, where he is attempting to hide. “That does not mean yes.”

“That does not mean no, Father,” Damian states, no inflection in his voice.

Bruce raises his brows as Damian throws another batarang to the side of the storage units, where Dick slumps against the wall. With a yelp that is louder than necessary, Dick dodges calculatedly, catching the batarang in one hand.

“Hey demon spawn,” Dick offers the batarang back to Damian, only to have a spoon stabbed into his arm. “Ouch – no, listen, if he’s considering it, it means yes, definitely yes.”

“Hmph,” Damian settles himself onto the floating seat at the counter. “I am aware.”

Dick rolls his eyes, walking over to Bruce, who has been ignoring them in favor of preparing himself another e-drink. Dick eyes his preparations warily, in particular the amount of energy grains Bruce is dumping in his drink.

“Long night huh,” Dick comments, leaning on the counter casually.

“Hm,” Bruce replies.

“I saw the uh, the news about the latest, what did they call it?” Dick shuffles closer, voice softer. “Act of treason by Batman.”

Bruce grunts, the best he can manage for his most talkative child, who he knows will talk at a consistent rate despite the nature of replies he receives from Bruce.

“Well, I wasn’t going to say anything,” Dick says, hopping up to sit on the counter. He worries his lower lip between his teeth and Bruce is reminded of how young Dick still is by the flush that accompanies Dick’s ticks whenever the younger man worries. “But you did say something to the Themysciran leader that gave me a sleepless night. Something along the lines of, oh I don’t know, what would it take for you to trust and help us? And that was fine, that all by itself was fine, but then when they said they needed to see Earth for themselves, you gave an okay that was not okayed by anybody else, you see, what you did was –”

“Showed the aliens their place,” Damian interrupted. “They think we’re less than them? They can come and find out.”

Dick sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I think the answer to that is very very clear,” Dick says slowly before turning to back to Bruce. “What I meant to say is, you endangered everyone doing that. You didn’t think.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t,” Dick hisses, hand rising to grip Bruce’s arm and Bruce thinks a pattern is starting to surface. “Not about endangering Earth, but about us. If they come for us now, it’s going to be more hostile than ever. They’re going to drag you out in the open and execute you for this.”

Bruce raises a brow at Dick, shrugging off the hand that Dick has on Bruce’s crisp uniform, neat and tidy due to the exertions of Alfred.

“That won’t be an issue.”

“How will that not be,” Dick snarls. “You can’t dump things like this on us. I know you’re going to leave it all to me, Christ Bruce, but we’re supposed to work this out together, do you realize –”

“They can’t drag me anywhere if I’m out of their reach,” Bruce interrupts him again, knowing from experience that this is the only way that he can get a word in between Dick’s rants.

Dick freezes, the hand that Bruce has shrugged off stilled in midair, a stunned expression forming on his youthful and handsome face as the blood drains out of him. It stays that way for a second before righteous fury overtakes it, and Dick is right back where he started with his rants, indignant and in Bruce’s space.

Right in Bruce’s space.

“You,” Dick swallows, and seems to swallow his fury with his words. Resigned, Bruce thinks, is the new expression that unfurls on the visage of his eldest ward. “You thought it through huh?”

“Yes,” Bruce says, pushing aside his drink. Damian is nowhere to be seen, and Bruce had thought it as much that it would be like that, considering he had yet to speak to Damian. It was nearing the time of departure, it was too close now, ever since he had reviewed the altered schematic Lucius had sent him over the weekend. Only two more days. “I thought of it.”

“And everything else?” Dick questions softly, fingers digging into Bruce’s uniform.

Bruce closes his eyes and leans back in his seat.

“Yes.”

Dick inches closer, his hand rising to brush Bruce’s hair back.

“And have you thought about everything else?” Dick whispers hoarsely. “Like what you’re going to say to everyone when it’s time to leave? Who you’re going to have to talk about this? What you have to do before you leave? What you might never be able to do again?”

Bruce closes his eyes tighter at his son’s words. Dick knew he cared, Dick more than anyone. Dick had found a picture of Jason tucked away in the utility belt Bruce wore with his uniform. He had been there when Bruce had avenged Tim, nearly beating to death the chaotic clown that ravaged the Gotham colonies for what he had done to Tim. Dick was certainly, knowledgeable in this aspect, despite Bruce’s attempts to be evenhanded with his children. When Dick had left, it had been especially difficult for Bruce to accept that he had driven his child away. That it was him that was wrong, that it was only him and nothing else that caused that rift between them. It had torn at him, crushed his sense of self, and Bruce had yet to feel secure in his relationship with his eldest. And with Jason, his traitorous mind reminded him.

Bruce sighs and opens his eyes, focusing his gaze on Dick.

“I have,” Bruce’s voice carries with it an edge of reassurance, just as he had intended in his mind, but it did little for Dick. “I’ll take care of things before I go.”

Dick reluctantly unhands Bruce.

“Alfred wants to see you,” Dick tells him, rising from his seat. Dick gives Bruce a once over, noting how worn out Bruce is. All their interactions lately have been exhausting and emotionally draining, but Dick knows that if not now, it was probably never that they would address certain things. He didn’t want to push Bruce, but he was desperate for Bruce to say something, anything of relevance before he left.

“I’ll have to see to Damian first,” Bruce tells him, depositing his mug in the cleaning pod.

\---

Alfred waits for Bruce in the Glass Deck. Bruce is exhausted by the time he makes it there, a little on edge from his conversation with Damian, so he’s relieved to find that Alfred has set up a small table with some old Earth tea and snacks.

“I am surprised to see you, Master Bruce,” Alfred remarks as Bruce draws closer.

“I wasn’t ever intent on avoiding this,” Bruce says, thrown off by the remark. Did Alfred think so little of him?

“Not what I meant, Master Bruce,” Alfred says softly, having gathered what Bruce’s mind had concluded. “I meant that I was surprised that Master Damian hadn’t killed you.”

Bruce sighed, letting himself relax into the seat, now altered into the form of a couch.

“He was angry, angrier than I’ve seen him,” Bruce informs Alfred. “Of course I’m aware of what he learned from his mother and his grandfather and it’s going to take a while for that kind of thinking to change and there’s little I can do about it but be patient. He’s been taught to think like that for quite some time, and change isn’t something that occurs with a snap of my fingers.”

“And my concern, Master Bruce, is whether or not you have the time to be patient.”

Bruce nearly flinches at the feigned nonchalance in Alfred’s tone.

“If I don’t,” Bruce tries. “If I don’t, then he’ll have to learn from whatever it is that occurs in the future.”

Alfred says nothing, the both of them tending to the tea and the snacks in silence. It reminds Bruce of when he had been a teen and Alfred would often preside over him studying or practicing or training, and how he’d often turn to Alfred in between for reassurance and be graced a slight smile. It bolstered him then, and it did the same for him now, though he knew that other smiles, similar to the ones he received, were reserved for each of his children as well. He was grateful that they were able to have Alfred around for their youth, particularly Damian.

They continue in silence for a while before Alfred stops and stares at Bruce.

Bruce sets down his tea and waits for Alfred to speak.

“When I began work here, Master Bruce,” Alfred says softly. “I was determined to be devoted to you, and I grew to be, just as I had intended. However, after the passing of your parents –”

Bruce stiffens.

“Things changed between us,” The voice is softer and reminiscent of Bruce’s younger days, when all Alfred had to worry about was Bruce’s school and grades. “I took over duties that I had not expected to be passed down onto me. Things I had never thought I would have to do.”

“I-“ Bruce begins, but Alfred quiets him with a look.

“Nowhere did I state anything negative,” Alfred mutters and then continues. “You should listen, Master Bruce, because I listened, I spent a great deal of time listening to you. I learned and trained alongside you, albeit for different things. One such thing being such an ending between us.”

Bruce’s throat closes and burns with the weight of a lump in it.

“I thought of it as ending then, with you leaving me here to tend for myself. But I’ve reworked that particular thought. It is no ending Master Bruce, not with you,” Alfred eyes him with soft affection and Bruce’s throat and eyes sting with the tears and emotion. “I have the children, and I have the duties you have left to me. While I considered them as symptomatic of my duties to you, Master Bruce, I consider them an honor now. What I am able to do for you. I consider them as my duties.”

Bruce swallows, wanting to do nothing but retreat to his chambers and ride out the onslaught of agony on his own. It must show, he thinks, and Alfred has always easily recognized his need to isolate himself.

“Don’t be daft Master Bruce, running away from this is no solution,” Alfred snarks, a smile tugging up the edges of his lips, though it is one tinged with sadness. “What is the point of all those bloody years beside you if I can’t handle an operation alone?”

Bruce’s shoulders tremble as he buries his face in his hands.

\---

They all avoid him the morning of the departure. Bruce has spoken to all of them save for Jason, who is doing his best to make it difficult for Bruce to speak to him alone. Bruce has to depart in a few hours, and Jason is still elusive. If not now, then when, Bruce thinks, gritting his teeth. He tries, but eventually gives up as Lucius approaches him with additional schematics.

Lucius’ gaze is as always, appraising, though in a way differing from that of Alfred’s.

“I take it you said your goodbyes?”

Bruce grunts and nods by way of answer.

“I loaded in the new components,” Lucius points to the new additions to the T3. They’re riskier than the ones Bruce has told the other about, so these are well hidden from both Oracle and Tim. Thinking of Tim is enough to derail Bruce from his current train of thought. Tim had cried, albeit silently, trying to remain strong for Bruce. That had been enough to shatter any defenses and walls Bruce had thrown up. He’d let go voluntarily with Tim, speaking for longer than he had intended, but it had brought some closure for Tim, who’d clung to him in despair for a while, unlike how he preferred to be around Bruce usually. “You should take care when using them. There are manuals for each one, and don’t think you can make do without reading them. The tech is new and I haven’t briefed you about it. You’ll need to read it, word for word.”

“Alright,” Bruce closes the hologram and tucks it into the bracelet he had below his skin. Lucius eyes the one he wears above, the showpiece. Bruce sighs. “I’m not taking it with me.”

“What for?” Lucius asks, a single brow raised.

Bruce is sure that this is whom he’s learned that particular behavioral tick from.

“You can do with my identity what you like,” Bruce tells him. “If you’re going to do something with Bruce Wayne, then you’re going to need his legally recognized bracelet.”

Lucius’ other brow raises and Bruce feels the need to sigh a second time but reigns it in.

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t think so,” Lucius drawls. “But I’ll try and figure it out.”

Bruce knows he can trust the man.

“I’ll surprise you maybe,” Lucius calls back over his shoulder as he departs. “Dick wants to see you in his personal quarters.”

Bruce fiddles with his bracelet for a moment before resigns himself to another emotional squabble with his eldest. The walk to Dick’s personal quarters is not long, since he’s located right near the Glass Deck, by personal request so he doesn’t miss out on any meetings that he’s not supposed to actually know of.

When Bruce enters the quarters, the first thing he notices is the sheer scale of property destruction that lies in front of him. Dick is not the type for such action, so he glances around the room towards the bedroom door, making his way towards it. Before he can open the door, it slams open outwards, nearly hitting him.

“Bruce, thank god,” Dick breathes out, dragging him inside the room, where Jason awaits, seated on the bed. Upon further examination, Bruce realizes that Jason’s arm is actually bound to the headboard with an adhesive. Dick’s gaze follows Bruce’s.

“Okay, yes, it looks bad,” the defensiveness is unnecessary, Bruce want to tell him, because he’s grateful that Dick has managed to get Jason here, unlike Bruce. “But you guys need to talk. I’ll, uh, be outside, just in case.”

Just in case of what, Dick doesn’t mention, but Bruce knows and he’s unsure if Jason is thinking the same thing.

Drawing the chair Dick has next to his desk, Bruce seats himself in front of Jason, who’s brimming with anger.

“What?” Jason nearly spits when Bruce says nothing for a while. “Don’t have anything to say to me? I heard you had plenty to say to the others.”

“Jason, you were avoiding me,” Bruce tries to correct him.

“Tell me Bruce,” Jason snarls. “What did you take me in for? You have three prep school prim and proper types and then you have me. The black sheep, huh. I always accepted that label. Fuck, I lived up to it. Guess that’s all there is to this then, you’ve –”

Bruce rises from his seat and Jason struggles against the headboard, one hand free to grasp a pillow and throw it Bruce who deflects it out of the way as he approaches Jason. Jason’s eyes are slits from his anger, so different from the desperation Bruce sees in Dick’s every time they argue. Jason is tensed, coiled stiff as Bruce stands in front of him, but that bleeds out of him fairly quickly when Bruce drops to his knees.

“What,” Jason manages to get out in a croak before he has to pause and swallow, his throat dry from the sight of Bruce on his knees before him, head bowed. “What the fuck are you doing.”

Bruce closes his eyes.

“Language,” He reminds Jason, who is, more than anything, his son.

“Fuck, damn, shit, motherfuck –” The litany of curses is cut short as Bruce lightly rests his head on Jason’s knee, shuffling a little closer with his action. “B, Bruce, what’s going on?”

Bruce raises a hand to rub at his face. Alfred has already begun preparing the suit, the last time Alfred will aid him in suiting up, and Bruce doesn’t want to face that particular event just yet. Not when he has to speak to Jason, not when he’s going to sit here and end up not saying most of what he wants to say to Jason. He doesn’t say anything, instead digging into uniform to draw out a crinkled photo.

Jason’s breath catches and a hand that is slightly smaller than his own comes to rest on Bruce’s head, curling into the tresses.

Bruce unfurls the picture, opening his eyes as he does so. It’s the photo of Jason Bruce had kept in his utility belt when he had thought his son was dead. Every single day, up until the day Bruce had made peace with the fact that Jason was alive and well. Bruce opens his mouth to say god knows what, but Jason snatches the picture out of his hand.

“Dick told me about this,” Jason breathes. “But I didn’t believe him.”

Bruce sighs and lets his lids flutter and close, his sight going dark, his whole being focused on Jason, his son.

“Bruce, fuck, look, I was just angry.”

“You meant what you said,” Bruce murmurs into the fabric of Jason’s trousers, and feels Jason stiffen beneath him. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. It’s what I’ve done.”

“No,” Jason snaps from above him. “You don’t get to have the pity party, you don’t get to feel sorry for yourself.”

Jason’s voice rises.

“Look at me, fucking damnit!”

Bruce raises his head and locks eyes with Jason. His son’s eyes are red and watery, and the hoarseness to Jason’s voice is something Bruce has grown familiar with over time. The rawness in their fights always leaves Bruce with a tiredness that is bone deep. This time, the exhaustion is more prominent on Jason’s face, and Bruce is filled with the crushing guilt he had felt during his days with a newly revived Jason.

“You don’t get to feel sorry for yourself,” Jason repeats.

“I’m not,” Bruce says through a haze. His son is hurting, and it is because of him, he thinks wildly. When has he ever done right by Jason, he thinks.

“You’ve done right by me plenty of times,” Jason snaps. Bruce doesn’t think he said that part out loud. Jason shoots him a look. “You did, say it loud I mean.”

“I’m sorry,” Bruce tries, but his throat burns, and everything in him is aching for him to give. Give in and just grasp at Jason and never let him go. The funeral, if Dick’s departure had rendered some part of him into pieces forever, Jason’s death had made it clear to Bruce that those parts of him could never be pieced back together. “I’m sorry.”

“Fuck, Bruce, what’s wrong with you?” Jason whispers worriedly, hand sliding down to Bruce’s face, tilting it up so Jason could examine him.

Bruce hand rises to dig into the fabric of Jason’s trouser leg. He wants to say so many things, but he can’t make himself to. He lets his face rest gently into the folds of the fabric, and clutches at Jason, breathing in, taking in his son, alive and well. He hadn’t handled Jason’s death well, or his revival. My son, thinks Bruce, through the haze that surrounds him. Behind his closed lids, all he can see is Jason’s mangled body that day, courtesy of Joker, and Bruce’s breath hitches as he tightens his grip. He can vaguely make out Jason speaking to him, a hand on his, trying to rouse him, but he doesn’t move. God, what he would do to go back and undo it all, to take that burden away from Jason, from his son. Bruce knows he’s crying, but he can’t think of departure, not if he’s leaving with things so bad between him and Jason.

“What the fuck, J,” Jason snaps his head up to glare at Dick, who moves over to them both quietly. Bruce doesn’t seem to care at the entrance. “What did you say to him.”

“Nothing, you dick,” Jason murmurs, hand still gently caressing Bruce’s hair. “He just got like this all of a sudden. Why the fuck is it always something I said?”

“Jesus,” Dick breathes, taking in Bruce’s trembling frame. “Alfred just pinged in and ask me if we were done, I said we were close to finishing.”

“What for?” Jason questions. “He’s not going to move right now.”

The look that Dick throws him is acerbic.

“He’s got to suit up,” Dick begins, and seeing the blood drain from Jason’s face is enough for his anger to fade away. “It’s only two hours now, Jaybird.”

“I didn’t forget,” Jason hisses, building up to insult Dick, only to be stopped short by Bruce shifting his face to the other side. “Bruce.”

“Bruce,” Dick tries, on his knees now, reaching for Bruce’s other hand, which lies on the floor. Bruce lets Dick clasp it, weaving their fingers together. Dick is rendered helpless by the vulnerability Bruce is showing and settles on the floor next to Bruce himself. Something clicks within Dick as he gently leans into Bruce, and he snaps his head up to eye Jason. Jason goggles at whatever Dick’s mouthing for a moment before it hits him.

“Fuck, Bruce,” Jason rushes out. “I forgive you, okay. It’s all forgiven and forgotten, you hear me.”

Bruce knows it’s a lie, Jason thinks, and kicks Dick, who frowns at him.

“Okay, maybe not,” Jason tries again. “But I know what you’re doing, I know what you’re feeling, what you feel about me–”

Jason is not prepared for Bruce to raise his head and lock eyes with him during his emotional speech.

“Do you really?” Bruce asks quietly and Jason finds he doesn’t have a reply to that. “Do you know how much I love you?”

Jason’s head buzzes and he’s sure he heard Dick’s small breathy intake.

“Do you know how much you mean to me?”

Bruce’s hand, wound around his trouser, rises up as does Bruce, slightly, to cup his neck and bring them closer to each other. Dick is separated from Bruce and Jason feels his other hand be freed from the adhesive. Jason breathes into Bruce’s neck, his hands winding around Bruce’s body. The sound of the door closing tells him that Dick has left.

“Do you know how proud I am of you?”

Jason’s breath stutters as Bruce holds him unbelievably close, just as he had when Jason had been a mere child and felt that the safest place in the entire universe was within Bruce’s arms, in Bruce’s embrace.

\---

The walk to the docking port is silent. Alfred follows him up. The last suiting up, Bruce thinks, and grits his teeth, tightening a strap on his wrist. The uniform is the trademark black of the Batsuit, albeit bearing no other color. A fitting color to die in, his mind provides, and Bruce thrusts that thought away a vengeance.

He strides forward to the entryway, where his sons await.

All in their respective uniforms.

Bruce slows to a stop in front of them. There is nothing more to be said. He nods once, sparing a glance for Jason, who is still recovering from their encounter an hour ago. Lucius waits to the side. Damian harrumphs and Bruce lets their gazes meet. There is reluctant approval in Damian’s eyes. That will have to do, Bruce thinks.

Lucius spirits him away to the corridor entrance to the T3. The flagship is larger than Bruce had expected and differing in its skin. Bruce turns a questioning eye to Lucius, who merely smiles. The ship is decorated with a midnight blue, a T3 in bright blue and red of the Robins who had ridden alongside Batman.

As soon as Bruce makes his way inside the T3, the corridor detaches and the hatch behind him closes. The navigation deck is easy to locate, and Bruce makes his way to the front of the ship. The navigational hologram is open and ready, destination set to Krypton. Bruce seats himself in front of it, locking the supports to steady him through the flight. His jaw clenches as he eyes the fringe travel commands in front of him.

The fringe travel command bursts into life as the gates of the Io station open for flight. They’d timed it right so it wouldn’t go noticed by the rest of the colonies or Earth, and the cloaking was from comm pod tech, so it wouldn’t be noticed, unless someone was really looking.

Hands unsteady, he draws out an old photo from his uniform. Alfred and the boys, and Bruce, in front of the Wayne Manor, down on Earth, seated with their dog, Titus. It had been an exceptionally florid spring, but they hadn’t had much time to spare to themselves, business in Gotham City had kept them occupied and on edge.

Alfred had set it up for them, insistent on having the tradition maintained. He’d settled himself in the background of the photo, Dick and Jason squabbling over the seat at the forefront, until Alfred had directed Damian into it, much to their shock. Tim had stood next to Dick, who stood behind Bruce, a hand extended onto Bruce’s shoulder, rubbing it lightly in an offer of comfort. Jason had stood behind Damian, more than a little upset by his position, until Alfred had come in next to him from the background, rounding off the family photo.

Bruce can still recall the relieved smile Jason had thrown Alfred. The offhand insult Damian had made for Jason to join closer to Tim.

He rubs a thumb over the photo, gentle, because he doesn’t want it to fade.

He tucks it back into his uniform, in the pouch above his heart, a small alteration Alfred had made.

The fringe core in the middle of the ship lights up on the display Bruce has in front of him. The space in front of him looks so empty, compared to what he’s leaving behind. Bruce wonders for a moment if it’s worth it, then crushes that thought. It will be, he thinks, because he’s doing it for his sons, Alfred, and all those people he’s leaving behind.

It’s going to be alright, Bruce wants to tell his boys.

It feels like the day he’d boarded the Wayne Elevated Explorer with Alfred, after his parents’ funeral. It had felt like he was leaving everything behind, including a part of him. Leaving Earth.

It feels like that now.

Bruce feels the ship rise and watches through the open deck at the view of space before him, changing as he rushed into it. There wasn’t anything out there, yet. It felt empty, cold, uninviting, as though it would rush into him and never let him go.

“Initiating temporary cryostate. It will be two weeks before reawakening,” Alfred’s voice filters through, and Bruce startles for a second before recognizing it to be the voice of the shipboard AI. Lucius had designed it after Alfred. No wonder the two of them had been spending all that time together and Alfred had been knowledgeable of the meeting in the Glass Deck. Lucius had said he would surprise him. Bruce leans back in his seat, breathing deeply, lashes wet on his cheek from tears he can’t control. Of all the things he’s done, this is, unprecedented in its nature. He’s grateful for Alfred’s voice sweeping over the ship. “Sleep well, Master Bruce.”

Breathing out, Bruce wrenches his eyes shut.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, how did I do in the feelings department? Not sure if you guys like the way I've drawn out Krypton. I read through some stuff, which I did not know holy moly. But I am excited to pump out this fic. Also, one of my favorite video game songs is called Leaving Earth, guess which video game it's from? That game is one of my favorites, I cry about it all the time, I kid you not. Also, comment and let me know what you think, I'll make adjustments based on feedback along the way.


	3. Chapter 3

 “Master Bruce”, a voice rouses him. Bruce’s eyelids weigh heavily, his attempts to lift them are strenuous but they do not rise. His body is rather sluggish, mind throbbing furiously as he shifts about in his seat. Bruce shuffles himself, attempting to reposition his body as the seat adjusts to his maneuvering.

The voice is achingly familiar.

“Alfred?” Bruce murmurs in question, groaning at the effort it takes to get the words out of his mouth.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred states, somehow managing to voice affirmation and urgency in those two words. “You will need to wake and attend to things. Events have occurred that are not exactly according to your planning.”

Bruce jolts, rendered fully awake by the realization that the voice carries a mechanical undercurrent. The voice isn’t Alfred, however much he wishes it so, and despite it being in his butler’s likeness. It is the voice of the shipboard AI, Bruce recalls, so designed by the combined intellects of Lucius and Alfred. His eyes dart to the view in front of him.

It’s nothing like the solar system he’s left. It still feels to Bruce that he had only said his goodbyes a few hours before. He cannot tell how much time has passed, and he doesn’t want to consider the magnitude of that revelation just yet. It doesn’t seem as though he’s in a different part of the galaxy altogether, really, but perhaps that is because his untrained eye cannot spot the differences. The view is altogether magnificent despite it all. The faint light of a red sun filters through the transparent material of the navigation deck, from one corner of the view. As expected.

What is unexpected is the distance between him and that sun, the vast expanse of space that lies between him and the solar system that houses Krypton. There is yet another solar system within his sight, one with a healthy sun, glowing white emissions reaching his ship. That is the system that belongs to the Themyscirans, Bruce knows, and it is evident that he is far from his destination.

“How much farther?” Bruce croaks out, pulling up the data from the fringe deck with a trembling hand. His voice burns in his throat, his muscles stiff from the remnants of the temporary cryostate still running through his body.

“Two more jumps would put us in close proximity of Krypton,” Alfred’s voice filters through in reply to his query. A pause in the data flow renders the holoscreen frozen for a moment and Bruce waits. New information streams in seamlessly over the old, courtesy of the AI. “However, the previous jump did not cover as much distance as it was supposed to. The fringe core has sustained enough damage to alter the course of the journey, and it was enough for me to wake you and warn of the risks of engaging in the final jump.”

“Right,” Bruce mutters, filtering the tech specifications through to his bracelet, the false one left in the hands of Lucius. His skin tingles unexpectedly at his touch, more sensitive that he had expected it to be, cryostate condition considered. A side effect of the modified form of cryostasis, Bruce surmises, and attempts to lifts himself up, only to stagger back down into the seat, breathing heavily.

“You cannot attempt a trip to the fringe deck or the engineering deck as you are at the moment, we have no knowledge of the extent of the effects of the cryostate,” Alfred reminds him. “However, I assume you intend to keep busy, so you can attend to a call I’ve got for you.”

“A call?” Despite Lucius’ technical abilities and the fact that the man had been given a hefty amount of comm pod tech to work with, it was only a remote possibility that calls between the Miletus and T3 could occur. It required significant technological improvement Bruce is sure they wouldn’t have had time to generate.

“With the Themyscirans,” Alfred clarifies.

“And how did we manage that?”

“You would know if you read the manuals,” the snark is slight, but it reminds Bruce of Alfred enough that it physically hurts Bruce to consider the situation he’s placed himself in. “The comm pod technology was substantially altered by a young man in the engineering department, then tested by Lucius Fox discreetly. It allows communication, though in a more rudimentary manner than the original working communication pods used by Earth institutions, between the Io station and this flagship.”

Bruce struggles with the thought for a moment.

“A young man?”

“By the name of Victor Stone, I believe,” the AI informs him, sliding biographic details onto the holoscreen before Bruce. Bruce stares for a moment at the pervasive cybernetic implants covering a good portion of the boy’s body. “He goes by Cyborg, and appears to have a certain dexterity with the digital realm beyond that of Lucius’. He was in part, my creator.”

Bruce’s body is slowly recalibrating, returning to optimal functionality, and rejected the last of the cryostate effects. Long term effects, Bruce knows, he will discover later, as cryostasis for fringe jumping is not something that has been recorded for more than two jumps. Compartmentalizing the thought for later, Bruce shifts himself up slowly to a somewhat dignified seating position.

“When will they call?”

“Whenever I indicate that you have woken.”

“Do it now,” Bruce instructs, making minor adjustments to his suit as he attempts to find a comfortable seating position. He cannot afford to waste any time.

“Very well. It will take 3 minutes for the transmission to locate us,” Alfred’s voice has grown tight, and Bruce frowns at the emotiveness Lucius has taken the liberty to inflict his AI with. “Some people believe it necessary to replenish their health after a long journey. And should this line of action ever catch your interest, there is a stored capsule packet in the panel before you.”

Bruce nearly adopts a look of exasperation but refrains, sentiment would wear him down if he let it. Bruce is grateful for the small comforts Lucius has incorporated into the T3, such as the capsule packet right in front of him. Popping open a storage unit on the underside of the panel, Bruce pulls out a packet. Ripping open it’s seal, he sucks on it, though not too quickly since he feels a bit queasy.

Gradually, he can sense his lethargic and nausea receding.

The timer on the holoscreen indicates one minute until interception.

Bruce straightens his back and discards the empty capsule back into the storage unit. The last time he had spoken to the Themyscirans, the reception had been nearly hostile. The World of Man, they had said, was not to be a concern for them. They had faced the creatures, the very ones that lay multiplying in dark space, once before, and it had not gone over very well for them. In fact, it had gone rather horribly. They called it the _crisis_. Around half of their people had fallen at the hands of the creature and their master. Post-crisis, they had given their everything to rebuild their new world. Untouchable now, with protections strengthened exponentially to let no one in. Boundaries and barriers set steady to prevent the loss of their people, their culture. Never again, they had said, never again would such a tragedy strike their people.

“Man travels far from his world,” a voice calls out to him, sharp and decisive in its observatory tone. The video filters in slowly, clarity growing frame by frame for Bruce. The woman is dressed differently from the Themyscirans Bruce has encountered until now, blonde hair travelling down her frame in an elegant braid, lying carefully atop a pristine cloak of furs. “First, tell us your story, in truth.”

Bruce knows his cowl does nothing to inspire trust, but he cannot reveal himself. His words and actions must suffice, and knowing this, he speaks.

“What do you know about me?”

The woman raises a brow.

“Of the elusive and mysterious Batman? Very little, I will admit, and we have ample knowledge of your world.”

Bruce frowns at that. The Themyscirans haven’t been known to travel outside their world, and they hadn’t made any trips since the crisis, so the statement is troubling. Bruce cannot think of any incidents of Amazons making an appearance on Earth territories, and no doubt Alfred is checking as they speak.

“Your companion tells us that you intend to dock at Krypton. I have no doubt that you will,” the woman pauses here to regard Bruce with mild concern. “But it will be your corpse that they will welcome into their land.”

Bruce says nothing, but his jaw clenches at the thought, unbidden. The situation is too dire for him to reign in all of his emotions, particularly the ones that thrash against the walls of his chest.

The woman laughs, and it is neither harsh nor cruel. It is one of mirth and Bruce is startled by the abrupt change in attitude.

“Do not mind child, it is an observation of the culture of the Kryptonians, not an affront to you,” the woman explains, perhaps noting her the discomfort of both her people and Bruce. “I have heard that you intend to broker a treaty with the Kryptonians. Tell me, why do you run to them?”

She seems eager, and Bruce tries to piece together why. Perhaps a desire for a safe venture into the Patriarch’s World? Kryptonian minerals?

“If you worry about your safety or the safety of your venture, fear not,” the woman’s voice is sympathetic and consoling. Bruce bristles inwardly at the pity he knows she has for humanity and its primitive state. “I am Queen Hippolyta, and this is my daughter Diana. Listening in to the conversation is the Senate. All those within this Assembly Hall will speak nothing to outsiders if you wish it to be so, child.”

A younger woman emerges from the shadows behind the queen. The Amazon who emerges is regal and lithe, with graceful curls of dark black framing her upper body as she drifts forward. Blue eyes that are bright, brighter than a human’s, scrutinize Bruce with curiosity and wonder.

Bruce nods once in greeting and acceptance.

“I’m traveling to Krypton to speak to their Council. I intend to scout but also aid. Most importantly, I’m going to prove that there’s worth in aiding humanity.” Succinct and clear, Bruce thinks, should do the trick. The air of superiority each species carries before humanity is something Bruce has gotten used to in his line of work, and he’s got enough experience and skill to judge how to enter social intercourse with three different species.

The Queen’s nonverbal appraisal of his statement makes the princess turn her head to her mother. Princess Diana speaks softly, in a language that seems incomprehensible to Bruce, and it takes him a moment to realize that they are conversing in the language of their people, Themysciran. It is the first time a human is privy to such a thing. The queen mother laughs at whatever it is that Diana is relaying to her. They turn to face Bruce in tandem, the Queen receding behind her daughter slightly. This time, it is Diana who addresses Bruce.

“Why is it that you are vague with us?” Diana demands.

Bruce can tell straightaway that her determination will not permit evasion.

“Because I don’t know what will happen,” Bruce relents. The honesty is not something he would have shown in front of other humans. Though the entire situation seems to providing amusement to the Queen, it does not mean that the Amazons were going to be providing him with any sort of aid. Not with the way that their people kept up their guards, and their walls.

“Be clearer,” Diana tells him. Bruce contemplates hedging for a moment, but the look in her eyes is something he’s seen before plenty of times. In Dick, in Jason, in Tim, in Damian, and in his own reflection sometimes, in the absence of any of the personas he drapes upon himself in the presence of unwanted others.

“I’m going to enter their docking area,” Bruce reveals. “Speak to the Council from there, and then get permission to land.”

“And if you don’t?” Diana questions.

“Won’t happen.”

The look on the Amazon princess’ visage morphs into one of exasperation.

“Man,” she tries and pauses, the frustration having leaked into the one word. “It is not in your control.”

Bruce is slightly amused by her countenance, and notes the weariness that accompanies his attempt at relaxing his mind. He is far more tired that he had imagined himself to be, when he had awoken.

“I’m prepared,” he offers, brushing away at the wayward thoughts of his health.

“Not entirely,” Diana informs him.

Bruce knows she cannot see his amusement, the cowl covering more than half of his face. A slight quirk of his lips is all he permits her to see. She catches on and blinks at him for a moment.

“It is settled then,” Diana announces, and Bruce is thankful for the reprieve. He must attend to the fringe core and the engineering deck, it is imperative that he waste not a second further with the futile exchange. Diana straightens herself and Bruce wills her to hurry. “The Man and I will speak of his plans, at length, later.”

She then turns her gaze to Bruce, who wonders how she reached that conclusion.

“First, the Senate must decide what to do with you.”

“We will do nothing,” a voice breaks in from somewhere else in the Assembly, rising from a point not visible to Bruce. Diana shoots the speaker a look, one that has everyone in the room settling down. Turning to her mother, who has up until now, watched them with silence, Diana exchanges a few words. Hippolyta seems to agree and motions towards Bruce with a hand.

The video and audio both cut out, leaving Bruce once more with the view of the empty expanse of space that his flagship lay dormant in. Unexpected, Bruce thinks, and bothersome. Interference is unappreciated, but if it does help, then he doesn’t want to forsake the communication with the Amazons right away. The Princess is certainly something he hadn’t planned for, and Bruce is determined to retain contact with her. Perhaps she may see things better than her people ever could.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred gently calls out. “There are things that require your attention.”

Grunting, Bruce pulls himself up and out of the seat. Still deficit of the balance he’d had on Earth, he makes his way to the engineering deck.

Time to work.

\---

The Senate is gathering once more, the second time in a single moon. It is unusual, but the situation warrants it, Diana thinks. The Senate have all but negated any ideas of bringing the Man into their land, though they are open to speaking with him further. It is long since any contact with the World of Man, and the Senate want to quench their thirst for knowledge or perhaps laud at their own progress in front of a primitive form of Man. Diana worries for the creature that sits idle amidst the ocean of space, there are dangers to the lack of movement in such territories.

“Diana!”

Diana makes her way through the corridors of the Assembly Hall’s outer walls to the mother. The inner hall is surrounded by pillars, built of the purest white mineral. A lowered floor is filled with the women that make the crucial decisions surrounding the Paradise Lands. They greet her with warmth and affection and Diana is filled with pride at her people. Artisans and warriors both graced the Senate, a mix of the generations that had painstakingly rebuilt the Paradise Lands.

“Diana,” her mother’s hand shoots out. With her arm in the grasp of her mother’s, Diana is pulled towards the oldest of the Senate members. The Assembly Hall is still boisterous, the call for the meeting has not yet sounded throughout the structure, and so everyone clutters together in small groups, speaking in loud voices. “They wish to speak to you.”

“What about the meeting?” Diana questions as they approach the group of Senate members. The oldest were there during the time of the crisis, and having survived the critical period, had been instrumental in the rebirth of their lands.

Her mother shoots her a scathing look, and Diana stares back. She is no longer a child. She is trained and ready, a warrior in her own right. She now has her own tales to tell. Strange tales too, analogous to the Herculean tasks the older women often speak of. The ones Hippolyta is still warming to, ever since the apology of Hercules.

“Diana,” one of them greets her. Diana is not sure she knows their names, but pays them respect with a bow of her head. “You have ventured to the Patriarch’s World. You have faced their horrors. Yet you tell us that we must provide aid to this Man.”

“Yes,” Diana tells them. Now is the time to be firm, she tells herself, act now for what you believe in. The time is right. A memory of green eyes flickers in her mind, but Diana pushes those thoughts away, concentrating on the elders before her.

“He travels to Krypton,” another speaks, accusatory in her tone. “He will bring destruction to the tentative peace that reigns in their land. Do you wish for him to do the same to ours? Is this the taint of the World of Man that you carry back with you?”

Hippolyta makes a soft sound with her throat and the elder pauses, seemingly ending her comment. Though their opinion of Man had at one point been belligerent, things had changed since then, albeit only a little.

“He lies stranded far outside his lands,” Diana reminds them. “If he was a child, sent to us by the Gods, would we not take him in? Raise him, foster him, then return him to his world? Would we not offer our aid if he was so?”

“He is no child. He bears within him the guile that burdens the Patriarch World,” another elder points out. “If we are to meddle with him, that taint which shrouds him will latch onto us in return.”

“It may seem that way only to those who are afraid,” Diana counters, but retains her respectful tone. “I know what I believe in. Whatever it is that lies in front of us now, it is not something worth ignoring. The Paradise Lands have flourished in peace for years, but the demons are awakening. They will come, and this Man sees that. He has begun what neither of us have. I will stand by his efforts.”

“Diana!” Hippolyta murmurs in shock. “We haven’t discussed this.”

Diana turns to her mother, a frown on her face.

“We should have spoken of this long ago,” Diana tells her softly. “But we did not, and that is alright. However, when it appears before us so clearly, we must not let it slip through our grasp.”

“We will do nothing for him,” the elder who had been critical of Diana states. “You will listen and obey Diana. There are things which even you know nothing of.”

Diana cannot comprehend their reasoning but she nods once in a show of respect before she is pulled away by her mother. Hippolyta motions for her to follow as they make their way to the other end of the room. The meeting must begin.

“The elders have seen much in their time. Their wisdom comes from their age and their might in defeating the crisis that ravaged our lands,” Hippolyta says softly, and Diana presumes that a lecture on the values of her people will follow. “They are also worn.”

Hippolyta turns her gaze to her daughter. Once, there had been only clay, fine grains that Hippolyta had painstakingly crafted into the form that had taken its first breath and its first cry in her arms one night. Now, Diana was anything but the frail babe she had been born as. She was still Hippolyta’s, but she was a fine Amazon champion. The Gods of the Pantheon had blessed Diana with great strength, wisdom, courage, beauty, a hunter’s skills, speed, and flight. But Hippolyta can recall vividly the sight of the Gods bestowing upon her daughter the gift of a loving heart. Diana was the Amazon’s champion, their emissary, but her heart wrought dangers that the Amazons had long since grown unaccustomed to, having cut off their ties with Man.

“You won the championship,” Hippolyta breathes, hand tightening on Diana’s forearm. “You went forth into Man’s World and you brought back to us wonders. Think over this well, Diana, for I can make a small concession in this matter, against the elders.”

Diana nods in understanding.

“One small concession,” Hippolyta reminds her, before moving forward on her own. Diana watches as her mother’s strong voice rings out in the Assembly Hall, calling the Senate to attention. Her mother had stood strong against Hercules once, before they had reconciled, and Diana had stood against Zeus.

When Hippolyta announces that they will offer aid to the Man there is uproar in the Senate. It has been too long, Hippolyta tells them all, and they have forgotten the tribunals of the one they had all raised together. She reminds them that her daughter had ventured forth once, and had seen and lived in the World of Man. Diana had returned, and brought with her necessities that had aided them once. Diana had returned unharmed, well, and _better_. Man had helped Diana once, and Diana would have to return the favor in kind.

Diana thinks of strong arms that had reached out to her once, calloused fingers that woven with hers as they lay together, admiring the World of Man, as ravaged as it had been at that time of war. Steve Trevor, Diana’s mind whispers, and the warmth that spreads through her at the thought of the Man tells Diana enough.

She knows what she is to do.

Her bracelets, forged from Athena’s shield, the Aegis, glint in the light of the torches as Diana raises her arms. All she requires is a small pulse, startling enough that the Senate will truly listen to her. Diana has always preferred words to conflict, and it is about time that she represents herself in the Senate.

The Lasso’s warmth brushes her thighs as she readies herself.

Firm in her standing, Diana brings her bracelets together.

She will speak.

\---

Kal-El receives word of a human ship stranded near a scouting point. Este’s regiment had located it on the outskirts of their territory. The Council, he has heard, remains in furious debate about the path of action to take. An outsider so close to their home had sent tensions high, and the Council, though more hostile than ever to Jor-El’s requests, were finally considering the impending tide of fate that was to befall them all. Kal knows his father is pushing his luck with Council, but perhaps this ship, and the male human it bore, would bring some change to their lands.

Themyscira had contacted Krypton first, Jor-El had informed Kal when he met his father to transfer more of the artefacts of the Ancient Ones that his company had scavenged, and while the Council had been hostile in reception, they had still spoken a great deal. They wished for the Council to house the human. No man was permitted entry into the Paradise Lands, and imminent war, it seemed, would still not leave room for exceptions to Aphrodite’s Law. Themyscira was to remain protected from Man.

The Council had been set against the suggestion.

What had changed, Kal-El had asked, for the Council to be in debate about the human for so long?

In return for housing the human, Jor-El had explained, a touch of annoyance coloring his words, the Amazons offered Krypton a divine blessing, given by their Gods in the times before the crisis that had befallen them. Some member of the royalty had been particularly clear about the nature of the services requested of Krypton. The Council remains highly unappreciative of the passenger of the ship, what with it being the elusive human who called himself the Batman, but a divine blessing is not something the Council wishes to forsake.

Kal considers the statement during his return flight to the Military caste structures. What sort of human is the Batman, Kal thinks, that Themysciran royalty offers a divine blessing in return for his protection?

He twists and loops through the tall emerald architecture gracing Krypton’s vast Military territory as he considers the changes that will occur as soon as the human enters Krypton. You must exercise caution, Jor-El had warned him before they had parted, for everyone will now be on edge. Kal had murmured his assent, his mind busy with the images of the Batman he had seen a few times when he had sneaked in, without permission, to view his father’s work.

Shrouded in a darkness that Kal only meets with in his trips outside of Krypton, the human had always fascinated him. The steadfastness and intellect in the gaze that Kal could somehow sense despite the man always being in his uniform intrigued him. More than it should. He had demanded of the Great Rao once, in an act of impertinence, that he should meet the human. Kal hurriedly buries the feelings that is rising, unbidden, and quickens in his flight.

He has a call from command to answer.

 _Kal-El_ , Veir’s voice resounds as he floats near the main structure’s docking area. _They have a task for you._

 _Tell me,_ Kal sends back, body tensing in anticipation. Any call now from command only serves to unnerve, what with the illicit activities he engages in.

 _They ask that you_ , Veir’s hesitation is palpable, and there is discomfort as well. Kal bristles in an anger. If anything should occur to Veir, Kal thinks, rage welling in him. Veir continues, slow, as if processing the thought himself. _They ask that you bring the human and his ship in. Now. Do it discretely._

Kal freezes.

 _I can understand the shock_ , Veir tells him. _But you cannot react. Do as they say, and we will speak later._

 _But,_ Kal begins.

_Whatever you feel for the human, set it aside. You can’t afford to be compromised, Kal. You will not react._

_Disgust would be an appropriate reaction._

_If I had a week, I couldn’t list all the reasons why that is a horribly pathetic idea,_ Veir’s voice is dry but still tinged with worry. Kal rises slowly, gathering himself. He has to travel far, farther than he has gone before. Este, Kal thinks nauseously. The thought of her is far more troubling than the thought of travelling past Kryptonian territory.

_Don’t worry about her, her father’s going to deal with her. She’s the one who located the ship and informed the Council._

_Still,_ Kal sends forth, _she’s going to throw herself at me. I wish I had though of something else last time._

_You did what was best, and things seem pathetically simple in hindsight._

_I simply have to bring the ship in?_

Veir’s reply takes a while.

_The human is apparently asleep. I do not know what sort of sleep will ensure his wellbeing while you drag the entire metal structure here, but what do I care._

Kal readies himself for the flight, glancing down at the twinkling lights of the grand structures of Kandor, seeing the spirals of architecture connecting the capital to Kryptonopolis. He is nearly above the atmosphere of his home world now.

_Your father contacted me._

Kal’s thoughts grind to a halt.

 _What, what happened_ , he manages to get out, his ascent slowing.

 _Nothing happened_ , Veir passes on, the words soft with comfort. _But he’s been informed that the human is in possession of an inordinate amount of Ancient One tech._

 _Father wants to study him,_ Kal finishes the thought. _He’ll bring the human home to the estate, to mother even._

 _Right_.

Kal struggles to subdue the feeling of possessiveness that rises at the thought of the Batman in his ancestral estate.

 _You dislike the human_ , Kal points out instead, distracting himself by focusing on his closest friend’s emotions.

Veir is silent for a long time, and Kal gathers speed.

 _No_ , the reply finally comes. Kal startles and twists around debris with the vehemence in Veir’s tone. _I do not dislike the human, he does more for us than the Council, at this point. However, I know how you feel about the Batman, and I know it will show, because you cannot help it. I dislike that you can’t hide your emotions, Kal. It will bring us ruin someday._

Ruin, Kal thinks bitterly, is not the term he had been expecting, but what has been said is true. He has never been one for silence, and it will be more difficult to render himself silent in front of the Batman.

 _I can handle this,_ Kal thrusts back, his indignation at being called out causing him to speed up exponentially.

_Este isn’t without guile, you naïve fool._

_Stay with me then,_ Kal tells him, and receives a wave of agreement from Veir. _You can offer your input on how things should be handled._

 _Better_ , Veir tells him. _This is a delicate situation and our lives are in enough danger._

The Batman is in danger as well, Kal thinks, his cloak fluttering around him as he races forward. And I wish to protect him.

_\---_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kal and Bruce are going to finally meet in the next chapter! So excited :) My classes start again next week, Masters is a lot more difficult than I had expected and tbh I'm struggling a little bit with social skills despite my high gpa. Hopefully writing this fic will keep me busy and happy pls.


	4. Chapter 4

 “And you will see to it that it is housed at the Estate of El,” Jor-El commands, speaking to the company that will work on disassembling the human flagship. Kal worries for the Batman, but the flagship has yet to open its doors. Kal knows that the moment the human exits the flagship, he will have essentially given himself up as the property of the Council. With residence on the Estate of El, however, the human might have a chance to retain sovereignty over himself. Jor-El will have his own demands however, but Kal knows that they are nothing compared to the cruelty the Council will inflict on the Batman.

“Not likely,” a company member pauses to reply as he passes them. “Though it is your son who retrieved the flagship for study, it does not ensure that the equipment will be transferred to you for safekeeping.”

“Equipment?” Questions Kal, fury leaking into his voice as he thinks the company leader is referring to the Batman in such a derogatory manner.

“The Ancient One technology that graces the ship,” the company leader corrects himself, seeing Kal’s ire rising. They all know how dangerous he can be if provoked, and while Kal knows how to reign himself in quite well, some things set him off spectacularly. “The Council demands that it remain with the military caste for the time being.”

“And what of the human?” Jor-El asks impatiently.

“The human?” The company leader pauses to consider the question. “I suppose he will have to depart his vehicle now, hand it over to us for custody, as per regulations. The Council has not spoken of his residential arrangements, or how long he is to stay.”

And what purpose he is to serve for them, Kal thinks, glancing at his father. Jor-El’s calm disposition has turned stern, and Kal knows that his father’s next course of action will once more land him in trouble with the Council. Jor-El turns his look to that of consternation mingled with exasperation as he addresses the company leader in a soft voice.

“The human is to reside at my estate,” Jor-El mutters. “How many times will you make me repeat it?”

The company leader goggles at the scientist.

“And what authority do you have that permits you to do that?”

It’s unlikely that the company leader will disobey. Jor-El’s exploits are well known throughout Kandor, and his time in the Council, as its leader, had been a celebrated one that had ushered in advancements beyond their early forecastings. It was a great affront to even question the status that Jor-El had within the capital of Kandor. The company leader withers under the stern gaze of Jor-El and Kal watches as resignments flickers in his eyes. Sighing, the company leader straightens himself, glancing back at the flagship that lay before them.

“If he comes quietly, then you can have him,” the company leader agrees. “Should he cause unrest, however, you will leave him here. The military is equipped to deal with his kind.”

The company leader stalks off towards the flagship, barking a command for the other members to ready themselves for contact.

“Deal with his kind, hm?” Jor-El murmurs as he glances towards Kal, indicating to Kal that he must follow. They make their way to the side, from where they can safely watch the entrance of the Batman onto Krypton.

Kal is eager. The flagship had been easy to drag back to Kandor, what with its structure having an elongated tail that he had been able to easily wrap his arms around. It had been a fairly smooth return to Krypton, Kal’s mind bursting with thoughts of the Batman and scenarios that had made him flush slightly as he considered how they would finally meet. He had thought everything through on his journey, in an attempt to get it out of his system for later, when he would have to spend an inordinate time with the human.

“Stand back!” The company leader’s voice carries through as the flagship’s side begins to shimmer, a door revealing itself. It hisses as it lifts from the rest of the flagship, a shadowing sliver standing somewhat further inside the door. Rising fully, it stops to rest in an odd fashion, curved over the entrance, casting a blanket of darkness over the Batman.

Of the darkness, Kal thinks, such is what he has read in Jor-El’s studies of the human. It suits the human, who oddly emerges out of the darkness, appearing as though the blackness was a sheath he was shedding. A flowing cape follows him, longer than Kal’s and cut differently at the bottom, spiking out in a strange design behind the human.

Kal pushes air of his lungs as he watches the Batman observe them all silently.

“Speak now, human,” the company leader commands, every single Kryptonian on the landing zone armed. Batman regards him too before striding towards him, determination lacing each steady heavy step. Kal notes the company rising to flight, a sign that they intend to incapacitate the human.

Jor-El seems to have noticed it too, for he signals Kal to move into the formation and take charge. Sending a brief surge of bewilderment back at the sudden emergence of weariness in Jor-El, Kal moves forward. Cutting through the positions, he reaches the Batman before the Batman can reach the company leader.

 _He intends to hurt you_ , Kal projects, _if you can hear this, ask me my name. We must get away from here._

The Batman, having come to a standstill some ways away from Kal, says nothing and Kal fears that the human cannot hear his thoughts.

“Why should I trust Kryptonians?” The Batman asks instead, but the gaze remains fixed on Kal.

“We want to help,” Kal states, loud enough for the company to hear, but soft enough that it does not seem like a show. _They want to use you_ , Kal tries, _my father and I, we wish to aid you._

“Your kind has been nothing but hostile since the point of contact. I’m not convinced I’m safe here. You’re taking my ship.”

“Kryptonian regulations,” Kal replies, and surges closer to the Batman, only then realizing that he’s floating. Flushing as he gathers himself, he lowers down onto the ground gently, taking a step closer to the Batman as he does so. “It applies to us too. Comply.”

“Cooperate is the word I want to hear.”

 _Cooperate_ , Kal projects desperately, _we will, yes, but please, come with us silently. If you do not, they will take you away. Please._

“Jor-El wishes to house at the Estate of El, one of the Great Houses. As a previous leader of the Council, Jor-El desires that you work with him during your stay here.”

The Batman stays silent for far longer than expected and the company begins to flow towards Kal, readying themselves to strike, should the situation call for it. The silence drags on for long enough that the company leader is motioning for a coordinated takeout, a blow of potions bordering on lethal, but enough to render the human asleep for several rises.

 _Batman_ , Kal tries, despite the human not having given any sign that he is capable of receiving Kal’s telepathic messages. He lets his desperation rise and lets his affections color the tone. He knows his face is flushing slightly as he does. _Please agree_.

“Fine.”

Kal nearly exhales in relief. Collecting himself and hardening his resolve, he turns to the company leader.

“I believe my father requires a military escort on his return to the estate,” Kal states softly, motioning for his father to join them. “As no company is permitted entry into the estate without a permit, I will take act in your stead in this matter.”

The company leader nods, as this sort of action occurs often when it involves the Estates of the Great Houses.

“Your company is arriving?”

“They await,” Kal clarifies. “My father will speak to the human of certain rules and regulations of the estate before we join my company.”

The company leader raises a brow at Kal.

“It’s private matters, I suppose, and you want me to depart so that I won’t accidently overhear things,” the company leader mutters. Kal opens his mouth to argue, but is cut off. “I know a dismissal when I hear one, Kal-El.”

Feeling slightly abashed at the sake of the company leader, Kal steps back to watch the members gather and carry off together in flight. Once they are well and truly off, without the chance of them overhearing the exchange that is to occur, Jor-El joins the two in the landing zone.

“Batman,” Jor-El greets, receiving a grunt in return. A quick survey of the uniform the human wears reveals many weapons to Kal, but he doesn’t mention anything, opting to stay silent until they board the vessel for the estate. They will have secured space there to speak without fear. “We travel to my home. The Estate of El is an old one, and I am its current Lord. There are protocols in place that you have to adhere to, within the walls of the estate, but those aside, you will be well cared for.”

The vessel is nearby, Kal’s senses tell him and he ushers them to the side that it may land. Humans are not equipped with flight, much like non-powered Kryptonians, but they are also unused to the mechanisms that come along with half of a population being powered for flight, unlike Jor-El. While his father had adapted quickly to his fate of being nonpowered, Kal is not sure the Batman will take to Kryptonian culture.

“The uniform must be shedded for Kryptonian attire,” Jor-El informs the Batman and Kal can physically feel his heart stutter. The jump leaves him light headed for a moment as he considers the implications of the statement. The Batman growls at the statement.

“My identity has to remain a secret, to Kryptonians and humans both.”

Kal can tell his father is unimpressed by the bland look that begins to form on his father’s face. It means that Jor-El has maneuvered the man exactly where is required, and knows the outcome already.

“It is no secret to me,” Jor-El offers, face changing into something soft. “I know of you, your caretaker, and your many sons.”

Kal’s excitement withers as jealousy floods him. Many sons, Kal thinks. On Krypton it is rare to have more than one child, and those who do often cite their passions and their affections as having forced them to disregard the unspoken laws of their culture. The Batman has a lover then, and one that he loves fiercely, Kal thinks. His shoulders slump slightly for a moment before he recollects his strength and returns his attention to the conversation at hand.

“And you can guarantee privacy?”

“Assuredly,” Jor-El states. “We will speak of these matters later, when we enter the estate. First, we must tend to your health. Food and rest are of utmost importance. You have come far from your home, Batman.”

The vessel, an orb of thick metal surrounded by the green minerals of Krypton, lands behind them in silence, only slightly obstructing the cool waves of air that surround them. A hole opens itself, eating away the mineral to create an opening.

Veir looks out, motioning to Kal.

“We must go,” Jor-El tells the Batman. Kal follows them towards the vessel, eyeing the heavy steps of the Batman. The heavy boots are responsible for the weight of the steps, but the Batman manages to walk somewhat silently despite their nature. A stairway molds itself out of the mineral, and Kal watches as Jor-El climbs, and the Batman follows, without a pause. It seems Kal’s considerations of the Batman’s acclimatization are unfounded.

Rising towards the entrance, Kal watches the steps sink back into the mineral. His father and the Batman having made their way deeper inside, Kal settles himself right next to Veir near the beginning of the opening, from where the covering slowly appears.

 _Careful Kal_ , Veir warns, _already I can tell you are conflicted by your interests._

Slumping against the wall, Kal rubs his hand across his face. _And I am to spend a week at the estate with him_ , he projects back.

\---

The Estate of El bears architectural spires that tower over the land it sits upon. Bruce notes that they land on the highest one, right in front of a grand door, woven with illuminating orbs set in fractal patterns. The others clamber out first, ones that Bruce recognizes as the members of Kal-El’s military group. Jor-El waits until the others have spread out onto the landing before them before gesturing for Bruce to follow. Warily, Bruce makes his way down the steps down onto the dark mineral of the landing platform attached to the spire. The sky above the estate has darkened, and the only sources of light are the minute orbs that decorate the spires. The hovering Kryptonians leave Bruce feeling rigid with anticipation.

“Follow us,” Jor-El commands softly, and Bruce falls into place behind the man as they make their way towards the entrance.

“Ishta,” Kal-El calls out, and the transport begins to rise once more. Bruce notes that only a few members of the group remain. Jor-El had spoken to him about his son and the military group, but had offered nothing more than small talk aside from introductions to three of the members nearest to them during the flight to the estate. Jor-El pauses and settles, waiting for the others to join them.

Veir, Bir, and Aer are to stay alongside Kal in the estate. Bruce is slightly aggravated at the surveillance he is to be put under, but can understand the need for such actions. They gather, Jor-El ushering them closer in proximity with a wave of his hand.

“Listen well,” Jor-El begins. “The Council has heard that I have brought you to my home. They call for me now. I thought I would have some time to explain the fundamentals of your stay here, Batman, but I do not. Listen now, and listen well, for I do not know when I will be able to depart from the session they have called.”

Bruce nods in acquiescence. Jor-El turns so that he can easily address them all.

“They will no doubt attempt to take Batman for himself, no matter the methods. I have already heard of whisperings of a clone in progress, from what they will gather of the flagship. This clone would then act as a conduit for exploitation, a means that will remain out of my control. I will need to procure that ship, and that argument will take time. While I fight on the political front, you will fight here.”

The Kryptonians draw closer to Bruce at Jor-El’s words.

“Aside from our active vigilance, there are subtler ways of ensuring his stay,” Here Jor-El returns his gaze to Bruce. “You must clothe yourself in the garb of the House. Both inside and outside the estate. You must remain tied to the estate, however it must be done. Kal-El will stay with you at all costs. Do not stray from my son.”

Kal-El rises in the air, the cheekbones splattered in the rose of his blush, Bruce wondering at the Kryptonian that is the company leader. A glance from Jor-El has the others retreating towards the door, leaving Bruce with the man.

“I will do whatever I can to ensure you stay safely, with me,” Jor-El states quietly, and Bruce realizes that the man will keep to his words, even if it means crossing a line with the Council. Slowly turning over the implications of the man’s actions, Bruce ponders the man’s motives. “You must stay with my son. There is no one I would trust more with your life.”

Bruce’s throat constricts and he attempts to swallow past it imperceptibly, but it appears that Jor-El catches on, for the look on the Kryptonian’s face grows exhausted and worn. The Kryptonian sighs and raises his hand to place it on Bruce’s shoulder.

“I trust you,” the voice is soft, reflecting the wariness Bruce catches on the man’s face. “I know that you risk your children, your caretaker, your _family_. I only ask you to trust me, as for your sake, I take a risk of the same magnitude.”

Throat still tight, Bruce nods.

“My son is aware of you in some aspects, being a curious child,” Jor-El withdraws, turning away from the entrance to stare at a smaller opening near the curve of the spire. “He will take good care of you, Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce says nothing, watching in silence as Jor-El strides away to where the turning of the spire bleeds away into the darkness of the blackened sky.

\---

Bruce settles himself down on the bed in his room, plush with dark sheets that are silky waves underneath the pads of his gloves. The room is nearly thrice the size of a suite in the Wayne Manor and several times larger than his quarters on the Miletus. Sighing, he taps the release on the side of cowl, breathing in as it retreats and allows him to pull it off. Tossing it on the bed, Bruce rises to inspect the Kryptonian psionic cloth lying on the nearby table, courtesy of the scientist’s son, Kal-El.

Kal-El had fluttered nearby throughout the entire walk through the estate, and had lain a strong hand on Bruce’s lower back, gently guiding him into the room. A superpowered Kryptonian, Jor-El had informed Bruce during the flight, Kal-El was of the military caste, and one of its greatest company leaders. A worthy occupation, since Jor-El had himself once been the head of the Council. Kal-El, upon hearing the description of himself, had flushed in what was perhaps embarrassment, but had taken a position closer to the two other men for the rest of the flight, notably closer to Bruce than to Jor-El.

The House of El had lands that were vast and well-maintained, though it was more the house that was taken care of, for the land was deadened from the sickness that Bruce had surmised bathed the planet, creating issues for the non-powered Kryptonians. Jor-El had particular demands about the appearance of the estate, it seemed, pausing in his steps to right an orb straying from its place in its hovering. Once Jor-El had departed to take care of the Council’s calls, Bruce had been escorted inside the spire, finally privy to the estate’s secrets. Kal had stayed close to Bruce, and Bruce had been uncharacteristically thankful for the proximity Kal maintained.

The Batman uniform, Jor-El had pointed out during the flight, would perhaps have to be worn outside the estate. Veir Tor, Kal’s oldest friend and confidante had spoken of the room’s carefully hidden compartments, storage areas for Bruce’s suit, and Bruce had realized then with a start that he would be bearing his identity to the three members of Kal’s company as well. Bitterly, he’d retreated into the room, heading straight for the bed once he had spotted it.

Kal-El, hovering behind Veir, had lingered longer than Bruce had expected, worry on his face as Bruce had huffed at Veir’s words and slowly closed the door. Worry for what, Bruce wants to know, but sets that thought aside for later, pinching the index finger of glove to shuck it off. He lets his hand run across the psionic cloth and revels in the softness.

Picking up the psionic cloth in his hand, Bruce rubs it with the pads of his fingers, letting it fall through between them. Softer than the material of Kal’s uniform, Bruce thinks, recalling the dark blue hues and the red symbol. The design is striking as well, a representation of a nebula visible from the outskirts of the system, a soft pastel blue tinged with clouds of white and brown. As the cloth shifts in his hands, the image moves with it, and Bruce stills. Drawing the cloth closer to his face, Bruce notes the twinkling of the stars and a sudden movement in the corner of a cloud. It is a direct representation of the nebula. Bruce’s breath catches as he notes the movement of a dark object through a cloud of darker blue. The cloth is _stunning_ , and he is to wear it for dinner.

Peeling off his other glove, Bruce gets to work on his suit. Making his way to what is obviously the bathroom. Large and pristine in design, ivory and near-ostentatious gold glinting invitingly amidst light steam from behind a transparent door, it houses a depression filled with blue liquid that is oddly opaque and glints with a multitude of soft pastels, the still surface like that of a pearl.

Bruce wonders about the nature of House of El as he sinks into the warm liquid, which is proving to be far more viscous than he had expected. Not water, Bruce corrects himself, trying to shake away his tendency to attitude human names to things that resembled human customs. This is not Earth, despite the people bearing a striking resemblance to humans in appearance, Bruce thinks, and he reminds himself that he ought not forget such a crucial thing while he is here.

On the flight, Jor-El had been clear that Bruce had to eat with the family. Bruce is to attend dinner tonight. Bruce intends to go, at least to scope out the areas of the spire he has not seen, and to attempt to enter new areas. There is much to learn. An image of Kal fills his mind and Bruce holds his attention, pondering his interest in the Kryptonian. It has not escaped him that Kal is beautiful, built just the way Bruce has always preferred. Strong, towering, dominating in his power, but at the same time, tender and affectionate in his actions. Bruce nearly scowls at himself for noting so excessively the traits of the son. The sheer power the man had exuded in the docking area had caught his interest, and then the shy concern exhibited later after Jor-El had praised his son. Bruce thrusts the thoughts away, returning his focus to the dynamics of his situation.

Whatever is to transpire, both Kal and his father are already in the thick of it. This Bruce knows without a doubt.

Bruce knows very well what a man with a heavy secret looks like.

\---

With one cursory glance at the room to determine that the uniform remains stowed away in the hidden compartment accessible only through his biotic signature, Bruce departs for the dining hall. The psionic cloth is a strange robe, wrapping itself around Bruce all on its own. It had settled around his form, winding its way across his body, smooth fabric caressing his skin as it had melded together to form his attire for dinner. Bruce’s right leg peeks out slightly as he walks. It holds itself in place well, and is surprisingly comfortable. Passing a reflective surface, Bruce glances at himself. The robe suits him, absurdly so. Whoever had selected the robe had done so perhaps to bring out the light blue of his eyes. Bruce wonders at the intimacy indicated by such a gesture.

The narrow winding corridors do nothing to help him navigate, but Bruce recalls Veir stating that he will reach his destination should he walk far enough. The halls will rearrange themselves so that Bruce will reach the area that the servants have chosen for dinner tonight. Soon enough, as informed, an entrance appears, the high arch covered in leaves of gold that flutter in the air around it, glinting off of the deep green mineral that spreads across lighter green mineral in veins.

The doors swing open as he near, and Bruce pauses in the entryway.

It is not a dining area per se.

The open balcony hangs over the estate’s smaller spires, arranged so carefully in construction to give the appearance of a garden of lit orbs, patterns easily visible from the high perch of the balcony. A small table is set up, the white mineral matte and unblemished, set with what Bruce thinks are flowers, albeit glowing in soft shades of yellow and pink. They shimmer as Bruce settles himself into the seat, noting that across from him, only one other chair is placed. A caretaker, dressed in the greys of a servant, approaches, note in hand.

“Lord El is delayed, he will not be attending dinner. Kal-El will arrive soon,” the caretaker informs Bruce. “Shall I get you anything to make you comfortable?”

“No,” a voice calls out, and Bruce feels a slight shiver of warmth crawl up his spine at the sheer authority Kal’s tone carries in that one statement. Pushing thoughts of his _predilections_ down, Bruce stiffens in his seat. Kal-El is dressed in the colors of his uniform, albeit in a darker tone, Bruce notes. The collar is slightly raised, the sleeves tight but shorter with a border of two thin gold lines, and cape lost altogether. Regal and fitting for a noble, Bruce thinks. Kal draws out the chair before settling himself onto it. “Father has procured the food for our guest.”

A look is thrown Bruce’s way as the servant departs. Bruce cannot comprehend the sentiment or intent behind the gaze. He feels somewhat lost on Krypton, and Bruce knows that he must gather himself if he is to work on this planet and with these creatures.

Silence hovers between them, tentative as the two men attempt to size each other up.

“How did you find your quarters?” Kal-El questions finally, hesitant, and Bruce wonders if he ought to entertain the younger El. “I asked them to dress you in traditional psionic cloth, but I wasn’t sure if you would like it. But human clothing would make you stand out too much, even in our home.”

“Understandable,” Bruce offers.

“Do you not like the robe?” Kal’s voice is curious, but also tinged with shyness from embarrassment, and Bruce realizes that Kal must have picked out his attire. His earlier observations of the purpose of the color of the cloth sinks into Bruce heavily. Not now, Bruce tells himself.

“Hn,” Bruce grunts, adjusting a sleeve, a futile effort to gather himself from the weight of his discovery. Glancing at Kal, he notes the signs of disappointment that Kal is trying to control. Not a good tactic, Bruce reminds himself, to insult the hand that feeds you, at least so as long as it retains that power. He tries again. “It’s passable. The design isn’t something we have where I’m from.”

“Oh!” Kal remarks, leaning back, the hesitation retreating. “I’m aware. We have something similar to what we’ve seen you wear before. But what you require now is psionic cloth that connects you to our house. These designs are known staples of my traditional wardrobe, albeit not as showy as most of the others. No one can mistake your place.”

Kal-El’s own robe. Heat spreads in his groin as Bruce considers the implications of such a statement. Kal colors, perhaps realizing the same. Bruce struggles to rein himself in, raising a brow at the return of embarrassment on Kal’s features.

“The servants are alright, but outsiders often come into the estate,” Kal sputters, attempting to diffuse his emotions with rambling. “Your connection must be well established.”

Bruce turns his gaze to the approaching servant. Dinner will be silent affair, he tells himself, this is stupid.

Dinner begins just as Bruce had intended, but the silence has brought misery to Kal’s face, and leaves Bruce reconsiders his choice, chewing on the contents of a packet from the T3. Jor-El had procured only his food, the servant had informed them, and the packets remained with the estate now.

They eat for a long while in silence.

“Young Master!”

A servant, dressed in the grey attire of a servant, hurries towards them. Kal stiffens, drawing himself away from Bruce, gesturing for the servant to speak.

“Master Jor-El sends a message,” Kal’s visage hardens as he takes the offered metal orb from the servant’s hand and nods in dismissal. The apprehension and fear Kal feels is clear to Bruce once the servant is gone. A wary look is shot his way before Kal tosses the orb between them. Jor-El’s form bursts forth, a holographic of yellow light, about as tall as Bruce’s hand.

“They have the council under Session,” Jor-El states. “They allow only message in between. Kal, the human in danger. They deny me access to his flagship and they demand I hand him over, and they do not divulge for what purpose. They deny me entry to my estate so long as I refuse the transfer of custody. The Session will last two to three rises. You will not see me or hear from me until then. Guard the human with your life. I will see what I can do here. The Council rallies against me, there is talk of exile. This is all I can tell you, son. Be safe, and do what is required.”

Bruce’s heart thunders within his chest at sight of the rage that blossoms across Kal’s face. The Kryptonian grips the orb once the message begins to repeat a second time, crushing it entirely to a small shapeless lump before tossing it onto the table, where it clatters loudly upon contact with the metal.

Bruce says nothing as Kal’s eyes meet his.

“You will still say nothing?” Kal questions, voice dangerously low. “After everything my father has done, you will behave like this with me?”

Not us, Bruce notes of the terminology, but me.

“No thanks has been offered, not even when my father risks just as much as you do, if not more. Not a sign of gratefulness. My father –”

Kal draws a breath, angering rising as he notes Bruce’s passiveness. Perhaps his judgement is clouded, Kal thinks, bitterness welling in him, judgement is often obscured by passions, and Kal knows that in consideration of the Batman, he has been slave to his passions. He is angrier now, hand clutching and twisting at the metal of the table in his ire. Kal lets his voice rise, shame and embarrassment at having fallen to the charms of the human filling his heart and mind.

“My father works himself to near death for you, and all you can do is sit as though we are your servants. What good will you bring us? Do you even care for us, or do you only care for yourself and your species?”

A bitter laughs escapes from Kal, startling Bruce. He has to say something, Bruce realizes. Kal’s control is slipping, and in some ways, the man reminds him of Dick. Working himself up to say something, Bruce leans forward, but Kal continues without pause.

The anger is rising, Kal feels resentment grow within him. He had expected so much more from the Batman, from Bruce. He had received no fulfillment, only disappointment, since the first moment the human had stepped out onto Krypton. Great Rao, and he had imagined himself together with the human, _bonded_.

“Do you even care for my father and I? Are you even capable of it? Capable of understanding how it feels to have your only family put themselves in danger that could end with them dead? To see them crumbling under the weight of their actions? Can you even understand how it feels to see –,” Kal raises his eyes to Bruce’s and feels the anger drain from him at the human’s sentiments laid bare for him to see. “Family members –”

Kal chokes on his words. He cannot continue. Bruce’s face is pale as he rises, chair sliding back smoothly. Kal follows the human, footsteps urgent as he catches up to Bruce, who makes his way towards the stairs heading to the balcony entrance.

“Bruce!” Kal calls, desperate for the man to listen, and the human stops, turning to face Kal. “I apologize. Please, I am sorry. It was uncalled for, and it is untrue. I know you have left behind your wife and children. Please, forgive me.”

Bruce hesitates. He knows he’s been behaving rather rudely, and Kal’s anger and remarks had been well deserved, but he doesn’t know how to handle the dynamics between them both. Yet, Kal’s earnest face is all he can see. Nodding, Bruce relaxes his posture.

“It’s alright.”

“I am sorry,” Kal asserts. “I, all those things are untrue. Your wife, ah, bonded, and children, the sacrifice, I can understand.”

Bruce frowns.

“I don’t have a wife, or a – bonded.”

Kal startles.

“Your children?”

“Adopted,” Bruce tries, unsure if the concept exists on Krypton. Kal seems to understand.

“I am sorry,” Kal repeats, gathering himself, voice hoarse. “What my father is doing, the measures he is taking, it may not end well.”

It is difficult enough to get the words out. Kal feels raw and exposed as he considers his father’s fate, his own fate. Bruce’s face betrays slight concern and Kal breathes. There is no mate, Kal thinks, amidst his daze.

“The measures your father is taking?” Bruce questions, voice soft. Kal draws closer to the man, crowding the smaller human against the railing of the spire. Bruce stiffens.

Kal shakes his head in warning, misery rising as he feels his careful façade crumble. A Session with the Council, and a unanimous vote is enough to ensure ostracization for his father.

“Just some measures,” Kal tries, but fails miserably at preventing the crippling worry from bleeding into his voice. Bruce seems to catch on, and relaxes his posture. Kal lets one hand grip the railing behind Bruce, leaning slight against it and nearer towards Bruce’s own body. He wonders if Bruce has caught on, to both his feelings for Bruce and towards his father’s actions.

“Just the dangers of attempting to offer an unwanted alternative to the Council. You understand, do you not? Striking yourself out like this, offering yourself for slaughter to help your people?”

Bruce forces himself to breathe. Kal’s closeness is unwarranted and Bruce can feel the heat of the Kryptonian’s body. He forces himself to reply.

“Yes,” Bruce manages, and notices that his voice is low and coarse. “I will do what I must.”

Kal raises his eyes, and Bruce nearly catches his breath at how close their faces are.

“And what of those you leave behind?”

Bruce’s heart jackrabbits at Kal’s set face so close to his own.

“I do it for them.”

Kal smiles at him wearily.

“Self-sacrificing,” Kal admonishes softly, closer than ever to Bruce. Heat courses through him, his emotions wild and out of his control. He breathes in the scent of the smaller man, Bruce is a rather delicate, despite being Batman, despite the scars Kal has seen on the exposed leg and chest. Kal wants to hear the story behind each one.

“They can handle themselves without me,” Bruce breathes, unable to handle the heat of Kal’s body drawing closer. His thighs clench in anticipation. Uncharacteristic, Bruce thinks.

“And you?” Kal murmurs. “Are you sure you can handle yourself here?”

Bruce can’t tell what the Kryptonian wants, he knows he isn’t fully knowledgeable of the situation he’s placed himself in. Kal is nothing like he had expected. Kal is considerate, wracked with worry, efficient, reliable, formidable. Attractive, Bruce thinks, despite the Kryptonian physiological differences. Human, Bruce’s mind supplies. Bruce doesn’t move.

“I’ll do what I have to,” Bruce repeats instead.

“And what does that include?” Kal asks softly. Bruce doesn’t retreat from Kal’s advances and finds that he doesn’t wish to. He can counter the Kryptonian, Bruce thinks, and draws himself up and closer to Kal, whose eyes widen as Bruce erases more distance between them.

“It includes more than myself, my family, and my world,” Bruce clarifies, breathing into the space between them. It’s been a while since he’s behaved this way, not since, not since Harvey, Bruce thinks, when he and Harvey had been dizzy and near blind with affection around each other in the beginning. This thing, with Kal, is far more than just mere affection. The timing is unfortunate. Kal’s strong musk returns Bruce to the present, anticipation on Kal’s face driving Bruce to speak further. “It includes your father, you, your world. I mean to find a feasible solution for us all. I didn't intend to come off as ungrateful.”

"Thank you, for explaining, but as I said before, my words were unnecessarily harsh and far from the truth. I know what you risk, I know your courage, your sense of justice, I know more than you think," Kal smiles softly, admiration in his eyes, and then Bruce watches as it begins to slowly morph after a few seconds into a heated look. “What requires a solution?"

Bruce gets the feeling that the words are no longer just about the many crises that plague the worlds.

“For what lies ahead of us,” Bruce answers, his eyes never leaving Kal’s.

“Us,” Kal murmurs, slow and deliberate, as if to test it out. “I am grateful.”

Bruce’s emotions are running wild. He knows his words and actions are unusual, and he has acted strangely freely since his descent onto Krypton. He is no longer bound by his Brucie persona, or the weight of his costume. He is unfettered, and _free_ , and Kal understands his troubles.

Bruce has never met someone like Kal, strong and daunting in his strength and resilience, yet so gentle in his actions.

“I will take good care of you,” Kal breathes, and Bruce mind nearly whites out as Kal’s larger form nearly covers his own, a strong hand braced behind him on the railing, the other rising to grip at Bruce’s arm. They are very close now.

Kal struggles to keep himself in check, but Bruce is there, the Batman is within his grasp. His worries are long since departed, all that runs in Kal’s mind is the thought of the smaller man, so delicate and beautiful, clothed in Kal’s favorite robe. Just for a while, Kal thinks, observing as Bruce, instead of retreating, draws ever so closer. Bruce relaxes as Kal rubs the arm with his thumb, gentle as his finger travels over a scar. Bruce bites his lip and bends his legs as he leans back against the railing, Kal moving a leg forward in the space between them.

It feels good to be blanketed by a larger body, one that is so much stronger than Bruce’s own. Shivering slightly, Bruce spreads his legs slightly. Kal’s breathes are heavy, but their faces remain distance, and Bruce has yet to open his eyes. Just for a moment, he thinks.

Kal watches with lidded eyes as Bruce’s pliancy grows. Stunning, Kal thinks, as he drinks in the sight of the man beneath him, feeling their bodies shift. He will not forget this easily, Kal knows, he has wanted this for too long.

 _A servant approaches,_ Veir snarls in Kal’s mind, and Kal draws apart just as a servant enters, Bruce’s eyes snapping open as they both right themselves. He shoots gratefulness to Veir for the warning. Bruce shoots him a questioning look. Kal shakes his head nearly indiscernibly at Bruce as he simultaneously motions for the servant to depart, the cleaning can occur when they are both gone.

“The servants are not entirely trustworthy,” Kal explains, returning to his earlier closeness with Bruce, though his mind is clearer now. He gently places a hand on Bruce’s upper back. “Come, you must retire to your room. It will be suspicious to stay with me so late.”

Bruce raises a brow in question and Kal sighs, the raging emotions of the night having worn him out.

“Our customs do not permit open displays of,” Kal pauses, considering the right choice of words. He looks to Bruce, whose face is carefully controlled, patient. A stubborn man, Kal thinks fondly. “Affection.”

Bruce nods, and Kal huffs slightly, amused at the sudden nonchalance in the man’s disposition. He lets his hand rise from Bruce’s back to cup his neck and feels the human stiffen. Kal’s eyes widen as he feels the pitter patter of Bruce’s racing heart. His human likes this then.

“Come,” Kal says softly. “I wish to accompany you to your room.”

Bruce nods, finding that he can’t get words out. The hand on his neck is heavy. He doesn’t want to dislodge it, the weight feels good, comforting even. Kal-El, it appears, intends to take very good care of him.

Bruce turns to Kal, who is watching Bruce with widened eyes. He raises a brow in question when Kal doesn’t move along with his slight tug.

“Your little heart beats so fast,” Kal confesses and Bruce goes stock still.

“You can hear my heart?” Bruce questions.

“Yes,” Kal murmurs. “I can see it, beneath your bones, rising and resting in rapid pumps.”

Bruce swallows.

“What else do you see?”

“Every single part of you,” Kal reveals, hoarse and drawing rapid little breaths in between. Bruce tucks the information away for later. “Your scars, your bones, your organs. The delicate curve of your hips.”

Bruce feels himself flush. Kal-El’s honesty is earnest and filled with awe, yet commanding in its tone.

“You enjoy my hand on your neck,” Kal murmurs, and Bruce can only reply with a nod. “Is it a human custom?”

“No,” A verbal answer will not suffice enough. Bruce raises his own hand to cup Kal and forces the Kryptonian to tighten the grip on his neck. Kal’s eyes flare with the sentiment Bruce has been waiting for, and the moment he spots it, Bruce feels his hips jerk slightly. Breathing deeply, he disconnects them both. There is great danger in the game they are both playing. "My rooms?"

Kal eyes him with resolve as they split, the hand returning to rest against Bruce’s back as they both climb the stairs to enter the spire. Kal stays close as they make their way to Bruce’s room. The determination on Kal’s face is fierce.

Bruce prays that it remains that it way, for they will need it when they face what they Council throws at them. Bruce prays for a clearer mind tomorrow. He cannot afforded to be distracted by Kal-El, regardless of what he feels for the man. Kal bids him goodnight softly at the door, and Bruce watches until the darkness of the corridor swallows the man.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy darlings! I wrote the ending when I was drunk from sleepiness so excuse the mistakes there, I was pretty much out of it for the last 2k words. This is not a slow burn thankfully. All those in NaNoWriMo, good luck :))) Er-erm the kink is pretty obvious in this one. 
> 
> Comments, as always, are my fuel! Let me know what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is a set up for the action that's coming! That chapter will need a little more fleshing out, since I hate writing action scenes. :/ I've got my first round of tests so huhu will be struggling

Jor-El is granted a brief reprieve from the Council’s session after three days to tend to matters of the estate.

The Council doesn’t intend interfere with the festivities rapidly approaching. Bruce had caught sight of father and son conversing in heated tone near the lab, where Bruce had made his home over the last few days, tending to his suit and reading as much material was available to him regarding Kryptonian culture. Jor-El had been benevolent with translations of his texts. Kal had appeared visibly upset at something, but the observation hadn’t stayed with Bruce for long as Jor-El had quickly turned his attentions to Bruce for the next few hours of his freedom. Bruce had retreated alongside the scientist to the labs.

Since then, Bruce hasn’t seen father or son. He’d confined himself to either the lab or the rooms he was permitted access to, working and reading as much as he could. Kal’s companion and close friend, Veir, spoke to Bruce of the progress of the work of the two men of the House of El. Jor-El’s defense had been gathering strength over the last few days, and Kal remains steadfast in his vigilance over his father’s work. The Council keeps both of them busy intentionally, and Bruce is well isolated in the Estate, despite the fact that three members of Kal’s company reside in the Estate.

Bruce has grown accustomed with the silence of Veir and mysterious disappearances of Bir and Aer, both of them elusive in their presence. Bruce thinks back to his meeting with Jor-El. It had only been three rises separated from his house, but Jor-El had appeared weary and angered in that meeting. Silent and seething for a while, they had discussed the Council’s demands for information on Bruce. The scientist had then requested that Bruce participate in some studies. Bruce had thought of it for a moment, but ultimately agreed, only upon hearing the nature of the experiments and what Jor-El expected as an outcome.

Jor-El had departed afterwards, mind still elsewhere, running through things unbeknownst to Bruce. Before taking his leave, the scientist had informed Bruce that while he was alright with Kal’s affections for Bruce, he intended for the information on the studies to remain a secret between them both, Kal was not to be privy to it. Both of them had recognized that Kal would interfere, though Bruce was unsure of why the thought arose so readily in his mind.

The studies are exploratory, but will prove to be beneficial to them both, if they run well. Bruce is willing to participate. His suit is rendered rather redundant by the presence of the superpowered Kryptonians and he is willing to take whatever form of defense he can get.

The Council keeps both father and son heavily occupied over the course of the following days. Bruce sees little to nothing of them, though Veir provides information when they gather together. Veir stays near him, eyes always watching, save for the times Bruce spends in the labs. Bruce thinks the Kryptonian is more than a little wary of him, but they work together in silence, and they work together well. Bir and Aer he stumbles across a few times, bodies close together as he had seen them once, caring for a rare vegetation pod, lingering touches and soft smiles visible from Bruce’s vantage point. It causes Bruce to retreat and think of Kal-El more than he would like to permit himself.

He throws himself into the studies and his work. It is not entirely a form of distraction, Bruce is well aware of how dire the situation is.

Nine rises pass before he catches sight of father and son once more.

\---

“I take it everything is going without complications,” Jor-El questions softly, gathering minute small data pods in his cupped palm, eyes squinting as he assesses their conditions. Bruce nods once, grunting in agreement. “The results will present themselves in a few rises. Take it easy until then. No further testing can be done without these results.”

“And what will they indicate?” Bruce knows the general implications of the study, but is so far unknowledgeable of the methods and data analytics of the Kryptonian world. Though he has spent enough time in discussion with himself regarding the implications, he desires to hear of theorization from the scientists himself.

“That you are suitable for certain,” Jor-El pauses, letting the silence carry over until it breaches the border of discomfort, eyes appraising the human in front of him, the human that had caught his attentions amongst his species, the human that Kal-El so blindly aligns himself to now. “Changes. For safety and for a continued existence on Krypton. That is all I am expecting for now.”

Bruce pauses. He has considered this scenario and this is one that he is not averse to seeing as a reality.

“Changes?”

“Necessary ones,” Jor-El clarifies. “We have not housed your species here before, and health concerns are my priority. Your world does not need a martyr, and our world would certainly like to make an example of you and blame it on other causes. That should not be an option. Of course, if you wish to take control of the findings and the progress after it, I would not stand in your way.”

Nodding his assent to the scientist’s use of the result, Bruce makes his way closer to Jor-El, who settles the small data pods in awaiting chambers, risen from the walls. The technology is intuitive and nothing like the kind on earth, despite Bruce having in possession some of the most advanced tech present in the solar system of humanity.

“The Council are insistent, and they will attempt to have their way, by any means.”

Jor-El’s eyes harden as he pushes the data pods inside the openings, both of them observant as the towers of mineral recede into the walls, melding into the mineral. Safe and secure, and not easily locatable, Veir had assured Bruce the first time they had worked together in the lab.

Jor-El clears his throat and Bruce turns to face the scientist, expectant.

“Your ship is not fit for travel,” Jor-El states softly, remorse lacing his voice, facing the wall resolutely, observing the burst of lights beneath the mineral as the data pods are settled in properly. Bruce eyes the profile of the man before sighing. He had anticipated this a few days ago. “Whatever mechanism brought you here is worn out, and it is clear to me that you do not have the means to replicate it.”

“I don’t.”

“You will not ever,” Jor-El tells him, turning to face Bruce. There is concern in his visage, but Bruce doubts it is for the ship he covets and more for the actions of the Council. “The Council intends to keep your ship, though it appears that I will be permitted to continue my work on it. Supervision is heavy and the security is unbelievably tight. Do not expect much from your ship, though they intend to return your companion to you if it possible to wrest him from the ship.”

Alfred, Bruce thinks wildly, and his attention withdraws from the conversation as his heart does painful contractions within his breast. He’s forgotten about the AI, and he’d forced himself to not think about the boys and his butler over the last few days. He wants to see his children, and while Bruce is aware that the Council has the means to grant him this, they will not. Unless it is to bend him to their will.

“Can you try to bring me whatever you can?” Bruce requests instead, ideas sprouting as he considers how he can establish contact with the Io Station if he manages to get Alfred’s mainframe.

“We can try,” Jor-El’s face pinches with frustration. “Though I suspect it will be a long and arduous battle if I am to bring anything to the estate from the ship.”

“He is something like a father to me,” Bruce’s confession is soft and barely carries over in the space between the two men. Jor-El’s eyes flutter as they close and Bruce awaits in silence, stiff, for the man to speak. The Kryptonian appears worn and haggard from the dealings with the Council. Bruce has yet to see how Kal himself is faring since both father and son have been set free by the Council for the next few days.

“I will attempt at a retrieval,” Jor-El murmurs finally, body slumping slightly. The stiffness, roused by anger, has given way to the exhaustion that is overwhelming the man, eating away at the driven disposition the man normally carries himself with. The slight relaxation tells Bruce that the conversation is drawing to a close. Jor-El requires rest, and Bruce would be inhuman to deny it to him, after everything the man has done for him. “But I do not know how it will go. I am wary. The Council announces that they intend for some important announcement of sorts in a couple of rises.”

A few days, Bruce translates, having grown accustomed to the system of time-keeping on the planet.

“Thank you,” Bruce says, sincerity lacing his voice, rendering it more genuine than it has been in years, particularly in the act of expressing emotions. “You should rest, you’re wearing yourself out like this.”

A small smile bursts forth on the scientist’s face, a blossoming blush of merriment accompanying as he regards Bruce. A small chuckle escapes the man as he straightens himself, eyes determined once more and crinkling with crow’s feet as he ponders something in amusement.

“Kal-El lectured me in much the same manner, albeit with less respect,” Jor-El informs Bruce and watches with interest as the human stiffens. He is well aware of how his son feels for the human and he and does not cannot fault Kal-El. Bruce is a unique specimen, an anomaly amongst his species: there are clearly few like him. Jor-El does not intend to stop either of them should they intend to pursue things; he is only grateful that Bruce is who he is. Eyeing the human who watches him with well veiled concern and respect, Jor-El thinks Kal-El has chosen wisely for his intended.

\---

Kal-El and Veir catch Bruce retreating from the lab. Worn out as he is from the testing and the studies, Bruce finds that he is pleased to see the Kryptonian. Kal is clothed in the colors of the Great House of El once more, the emblem in a deep red throwing back the surrounding light across his breast. Kal’s affectionate smile is enough to set Bruce’s heart off into a thundering beat and Veir eyes them both as they both automatically gravitate towards each other.

“You spend time in the lab with father?” Kal’s query is soft and appreciative, appraising the robe Bruce is dressed in. It is not psionic cloth but a much simpler robe in black that curves around his upper body, a black shirt and pants similar in style to Kal’s own underneath for increased mobility.

“With Veir mostly,” Bruce clarifies. He cannot quite comprehend the reason behind the sudden freedom he feels in expressing his sentiment and his affections, particularly with Kal-El, but it doesn’t bother him as much as it would have two weeks ago. His restraint and self-control, wrought through years of training, still work to hold things at bay though it is growing harder to do so when it concerns Kal.

There is hesitation in the way the both of them are acting, and Veir huffs as he realizes it. Bruce is still slightly stiff at the prospect of having an audience for their reunion and Kal is rather embarrassed at the thought of Veir seeing his best friend’s attempts at romantic affections.

Just as Kal opens his mouth to speak, Veir interrupts, one hand reaching out to wave at the space between them.

“It looks like both of you are incapable of speaking freely with me around,” Another huff follows as Veir steps back. Bruce has come to recognize this as a sign of mild amusement, associating it with the human tendency to roll eyes, After the first time veir had described the behavior. He knows he may be flushing slightly, seeing as Kal himself is a little red across his cheeks, but Veir is not bothered. “I’ll wait out in the dining area, eating, seeing as I’m hungry.”

Kal manages a nod.

Veir’s smile widens just a tad and Bruce tries not to think about how much Dick would have enjoyed befriending the man.

“You two hunger for something else, I think.”

Kal groans as Veir turns, slow and weighted strides falling onto the floor as the Kryptonian makes his way towards the entry to the corridor. Both of them watch Veir disappear before turning to each other. It has been long since they have seen each other and the last time they had been together, they both had acted strangely. Kal eyes Bruce, wondering about the time the Batman has spent working with his father. Enmeshed relationships are clear courtship signs on Krypton.

 _Watch for the straying eyes_ , Veir warns him suddenly.

Bruce says nothing, simply observing the Kryptonian. Kal considers the time they have spent apart.

 _I will_ , Kal throws back as he feels Veir retreating, _Bruce is likely to notice such things as well._

 _Hmph_ , Veir’s exasperation is clear, but the connection severs and Kal is left truly alone with Bruce.

Kal speaks first, eager to catch up with the human.

“What are you and Veir working on?” Kal questions, breaking the silence between them without awkwardness now that Veir has left them to their own devices. They shift closer together as Kal speaks softly. Bruce and Kal are closer to the end of the corridor, near an alcove, in a darkened patch beside the entrance of the labs.

Bruce thinks for a moment about what he ought to reveal, considering Jor-El’s disclosure and his own realization of the dynamics between him and Kal.

“Data analysis for your father and certain studies regarding human physiology,” Bruce provides, but it appears to have a different significance for Kal.

The Kryptonian stiffens and rage floods his face, twisting it.

“What?”

Bruce does not know what has angered the Kryptonian so stays silent and waits for clarification. Kal’s temper withers when he sees that Bruce cannot comprehend the reason behind his ire.

“My father’s studies are often,” And Kal pauses here, wincing as he searches for the appropriate term. “Bordering on unethical. While they commonly promise results, I just wish to make sure that you are not doing anything harmful to yourself.”

Bruce narrows his eyes at Kal’s tone. There is concern, but there is also pity. Perhaps the Kryptonian thinks Bruce intends to sacrifice himself stupidly. There are things he intends to do, and not one of them is blind martyrdom. He has a plan, and Bruce intends to see it through.

“I am not,” Bruce states, the coldness of a defensive act rendering his words cutting and his disposition closed off.

Kal seems to realize that his words have created tension between them and the apologetic demeanor that comes over the man tempts a concession from Bruce for the words uttered. Bruce instead elects to remain steadfast, though something pushes him to act differently and tell the Kryptonian that things are alright between them.

Bruce watches as Kal shifts anxiously, unsure of himself now that Bruce is slightly unresponsive. Sighing, Bruce relents to whatever it is within him that calls out for a swift remedial of the situation.

“The study is rather simple and straightforward,” The statement provides no comfort for Kal, who only shoots Bruce a look of despair. Bruce continues, a second attempt at consoling the Kryptonian, though he thinks Kal’s reaction is uncalled for. “Just a look at my physiology to determine how it’s going to be for me the longer I stay on Krypton.”

Kal’s eyes widen.

“Oh.”

“Yes,” Bruce scoffs softly. “Oh.”

“I worry,” Kal says, emphasizing his sentiment with an unusual stress on the final word. Kal relaxes immediately afterwards. “But I trust him, and I trust you.”

Bruce raises a brow at the statement, but feels himself flush at the sincerity in Kal’s tone. His physiological reactions are unusually heightened on Krypton, Bruce notes, and the control he has over them is less, weaning and wrested away for a freedom that Bruce is not sure he wants, now that he has lived long without it.

“I see.”

Kal flushes, but this is not one of positive affect. There is slight shame and relief in the posture Kal takes now. They both stand silent, pondering how things have played out. Bruce realizes that his statement may have been mistaken for condescension and grits his teeth. He is accustomed to a dearth of such personal exchanges, engaging only occasionally with his children and Alfred.

Kal makes the first move once more, willing to reconcile them both despite Bruce’s overt stiffness. Bruce realizes this pattern may be beneficial if continued, but he cannot tell if the Kryptonian is aware of his dislike of starting conversations or if Kal is simply eager to speak. He is starting to think it is the former. Something in Bruce frowns at the thought of exploiting the Kryptonian. Kal is more than simply aware of Bruce, and Bruce cannot find it in himself to declare that he dislikes it.

The Kryptonian takes a step closer to Bruce, lowering his head slightly until there is little space between them. Bruce refrains from retreating as he usually does with others.

“There is a festive celebration occurring today, as the sun disappears slightly behind the towers of Kandor,” Kal whispers, nervousness filtering through.

Bruce nods, confusion crawling across his face. Kal considers him for a moment with anxious fidgeting before swallowing and continuing.

“I realize father, Veir, and you have worked hard over the previous cycles,” the soft affectionate tone relays concern and appreciation. Bruce bites the inside of his lip to control his turbulent emotions. It is not often that he is overwhelmed with his own affective indulgences. “Why not take a break?”

“While your father is working?” Bruce counters query for query, unable to help himself.

Kal doesn’t seem to take offense, sensing somehow that Bruce desires a break himself. Bruce watches as a soft smile spreads on Kal’s face as a strong Kryptonian hand comes to rest on Bruce’s shoulder, curling strong fingers into his back before traveling to brush slightly against his nape.

“Father has to see to the festive duties of the estate himself,” Kal’s amusement is evident and Bruce bristles. The fingers resting on his nape dig in and Bruce lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in. “Why not come with me to view the festivities father will set up in the estate? We will simply have to avoid the visitors.”

Bruce wishes to go. It has too without a break for him, and Krypton is intent on propelling Bruce towards a freedom he has never had before. Kal waits for his answer patiently, eyes fixed on Bruce.

With a liberating sigh, Bruce nods in agreement. He tries not to reflect on the fact that Kal pulling them closer together makes his heart thunder.

\---

The festivities are held in a large hall resembling a maze. The lights, silver and white, float around the tall emerald walls of the maze. Kal and Bruce are dressed in psionic cloth, black and inconspicuous with a reflecting emblem of the house on the back of the cloth. Kal had insisted on the attire, it would apparently ensure that they not be caught for conversation by any servant. It also ensured that Bruce would be able to access areas only meant for the family.

They have not spoken a word since they had gathered in front of Bruce’s door and yet Bruce finds himself more than a little pleased with how smoothly things are progressing.

Kal leads them both through to a small crack in the wall, one light orb fixed to the side of the crack. Kal throws him a look of excitement as he pushes at the crack. Bruce stares as the crack expands, revealing an opening to what looks like a garden of sorts.

The emerald vegetation, akin to frosted mineral, glitters underneath a muted golden light that diffuses itself throughout the entire garden from a large orb floating high overhead. Bruce sticks a bare foot in the vegetation, boots foregone, and finds it akin to silk in texture. Kal drags him forward physically with a tug on his arm and Bruce stumbles.

Only to be caught by a beaming Kal. The Kryptonian’s guileless smile is enough to set Bruce’s lips and cheeks off into a smile of their own.

Righting them both, Kal laughing softly with a grin that only seems to widen, they make their way to the center of the room.

A tree, Bruce thinks, thoughts running wild as he catalogues the similitaries. Just as the ones on Earth, though it is golden, and appears liquid in composition. Kal makes his way closer, Bruce right behind him as the Kryptonian’s grip on his arm refuses to let him go. As they near the tree, Bruce feels the heat it radiates warm him, sinking deep into his skin. He can feel the flush that covers his face and sees the same reflected on Kal’s, though that might have been a result of Kal’s rushing emotions.

Kal grins and tugs Bruce closer, glad that the Batman is the first that he shares his secret with. He bites his lip in an attempt to quell the affections that arise within him. Reaching his hand out, he dips his fingers in the liquid of the structure.

Bruce watches, clearly bewildered as Kal gathers the liquid with a crook of his fingers before drawing it out. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, Kal tastes the sweetness of the liquid. A wave of warmth runs through him and Kal lets out a heated breath as he feels the aftershocks tingle in his body. Returning his fingers inside he draws out more of the liquid, thoughtlessly offering it to Bruce, lost in the heady emotions resulting from having consumed the sweet liquid of the rituals of the Estate’s temple.

Bruce stares at the offering blankly, and Kal realizes his mistake through his haze. Withdrawing his outstretched hand, he motions for Bruce to raise his frail human hand, and Bruce shuffles closer, hand rising to touch the structure. Hesitantly, Bruce lets his fingertips sink in, only to shudder at the viscosity and warmth of the liquid. Kal’s smile is starting to pull uncomfortably at his cheeks.

Drawing his fingers back, Bruce glances at Kal for clarification before letting his tongue out to lap at the liquid on one fingertip. Eyes widening in surprise, Bruce licks the rest of the liquid. The flush on Bruce’s cheeks deepen as he consumes the liquid in its entirety and Kal is thrilled.

“Bruce,” Kal murmurs, desiring the human’s attention. When Bruce turns, Kal presents his fingers, coated once more in the liquid, and Bruce swallows at the aroma that is now revealed to him, as it is to only those who have already consumed the liquid. Tracing the human’s lower lip with his index finger, Kal lets the liquid rest there. Bruce’s tongue peeks out as soon as Kal’s finger retreats to cleanse the lip and consume the liquid.

Kal huffs.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?” Bruce asks.

Embarrassment fills Kal, but it disappears quickly enough when he realizes that Bruce is asking only after having consumed the liquid. Trusting, Kal thinks, unusual for the Batman. Perhaps it is only so for the Batman, not the man under the cowl, Kal surmises as he turns to the structure.

“Liquid produced by the mineral of the temple,” Kal points to the large doors on the other end of the garden. They are locked as Jor-El has seen to the rituals earlier in the day and that part is privy only to the family, and later to those who are intended members. “After rituals more often than not. It is rare that it is full and sweet, but festivals such as this give in abundance.”

“Why not store it?” Bruce questions.

“It will fade,” Kal explains. “The fixtures and the veins in the mineral in the Grand Hall? It solidifies and becomes useless, since it is not to be shown to those not belonging to the House.”

Bruce frowns and Kal can already postulate what Bruce intends to ask. Intent on not letting the man question him, Kal pulls Bruce to his breast with the hand he has clasped on the human’s arm, their breaths, tinted with the sweetness of the ritual liquid, mingling in the space between them.

“I chose to make an exception,” Kal murmurs, letting his other hand rise to cup Bruce’s face. He searches the eyes of the Batman, though he knows not what he searches for. Bruce leans into his palm and Kal revels in the feel the softness of Bruce’s cheek. “I feel as though we may not get the chance to indulge ourselves after this.”

Bruce eyes flutter close as he hums in agreement. Something inside him gives, ready to capitulate to what he feels for the Kryptonian and Bruce is too heady with the scent of the liquid to think about the desire that threatens to render him foggy.

Kal lowers his head, face dangerously close to Bruce’s.

“I have never met anyone like you,” Kal whispers. “I feel as though I have known you all my life. I read of you as before, and I knew this then. There is no one like you.”

Bruce shivers as Kal’s lips brush his.

“Not for me,” The voice that lathes over his parting lips is hoarse. Bruce’s eyes are heavy and reluctant in opening. He pushes himself forward, his free hand rising to rest against Kal’s chest. Their lips meet, both slightly wet and moist from the consumption of the ritual liquid. Kal’s hand rises to tangle in Bruce’s hair as he guides their lips. Bruce surges towards Kal with the entirety of his body, lips melding against Kal’s as they kiss, desperately. The sweetness of the tree only emboldens Bruce, who pulls his other hand free and grips at Kal’s shoulder to steady himself.

Kal’s hand retreats and Bruce shifts, missing the hand in his hair that had been guiding him as Kal saw fit. Letting his eyes flutter at a soft sound Kal makes, Bruce is met with fingers coated in the ritual liquid. He glances up at Kal, and his breath hitches. Kal’s determination and command sets off something inside Bruce that he thought well repressed. Kal waits expectantly, and his fingers drift forward slightly to press against Bruce’s open lips. Foggy with something he is reluctant to examine, Bruce opens his mouth wider and takes in the fingers.

They press into his tongue and explore the moist cavern of his mouth as Bruce attempts to breathe around them. His lids drop and his hand shifts to hold at Kal’s own as the Kryptonian feeds him the ritual liquid. Kal pulls out his fingers, replacing them with his lips and Bruce moans under the muted sweetness that surrounds him.

\---

Bruce cannot recall how they had managed to detangle and get themselves back to the rooms, but he is alright with that. He is glad they went no further, and he doesn’t wish to do anything more without first examining his feelings, and that thing he feels rear up in Kal’s presence, flourishing under Kal’s ministrations. Since then, three days have passed, and sometime during each day, Kal has pressed gentle kisses to Bruce’s hair, his cheeks, and even his fingers once, all safely away from the eyes of others.

He brushes his thoughts as he makes his way to the lab. Jor-El has called them all, urgency had been evident in the message orb Bruce had received from the servant. Throwing on a new black uniform fashioned from psionic cloth akin to the fundamentals of his Batman suit, Bruce had made his way out to the corridor.

Veir and Bir walk beside him, conversing perhaps telepathically.

Bruce is sometimes envious of that ability, though he is glad that they cannot read his emotions.

He enters the lab first, eyes scanning.

Kal is there, and so is Aer. Whatever it is that has transpired, is serious enough for Jor-El to call them all to the privacy of his lab, away from the ears and eyes of even his trusted servants. The quick scan shows Jor-El situated next to an upset Kal. Jor-El beckons for Bruce and his companions to draw closer and they make their way towards the three others.

Jor-El eyes them as they settle into a formation around the scientist. Kal stands stiff next to Bruce, his right hand resting on Bruce’s back briefly before withdrawing. Kal’s face is tight and pale, and Bruce lets concern flicker across face when their eyes only to be offered nothing in response from the Kryptonian. His chest constricts but Bruce attempts to wrench the sentiments out of his thoughts as Jor-El turns to them, drawing up a holographic pamphlet, something like papyrus Bruce had seen before on earth.

The image floats and rotates.

“A Princess Diana of Themyscira has arrived for you, Bruce,” Jor-El begins and Bruce can sense Kal’s discomfort. “And the Council has expressed their gratitude for the divine blessing. Combined with the results of the studies you participated in, it has been decided that a treaty will be negotiated with the Themyscirans   and future data exchanges with the humans will be freer.”

“Offers come with expectations,” Veir mutters.

“Indeed,” Jor-El says softly, eyeing Bruce. “Their expectations of you are not known to me.”

Kal bristles next to him and Bruce can guess where this conversation is going.

“The council demands a private session with you.”

\---

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops, this is a quick fix for me. I really want to get this out quickly. This is a mix of DC canon and a bunch of sci fi video games. See if you can spot all the references I've made to numerous video games! Also, I am my own beta, so this is bound to have a gazillion mistakes because I just type it out and don’t read it afterwards huhu.
> 
> Leave a comment below if you want me to focus on the sci-fi aspect just as much in the future chapters!


End file.
